


your hand forever's all i want

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baking, Dirty Talk, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Pretend Engagement for cake eating purposes, Romantic Comedy, Semi-Public Sex, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: Shiro is a hopeless romantic searching for true love in idiot college boys, and Keith tries to show his love through baking.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 414
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	your hand forever's all i want

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun working on this fic for the sheith reverse bang! <3 i will post the link to my art as soon as it's up.
> 
> thank you so much to blue for editing the monster this fic turned into, i owe you my whole life

Shiro turns up on Keith’s doorstep late on Friday looking like a very sad, half-drowned extra from a movie about a high school prom. His hair is a mess and his suit and tie are absolutely soaked from the bizarre January rainstorm that’s been plaguing campus for nearly two days straight. 

“Oh, shit,” Keith says.

“Keith,” Shiro says. He’s sniffling, face a mix of rainwater and tears. His normally fluffy tuft of white hair is a stringy mess plastered all over his forehead and the rest of his black hair has turned into some kind of wet, awful bowl cut. “He—he broke up with me.”

“Oh,” Keith sighs.

He drags his wet lump of a best friend inside the door and fetches him a towel before Shiro can drip water all over the hand-me-down furniture. The only one Keith owns is his bath towel, but he’s pretty sure it was washed sometime this month and honestly Shiro doesn’t have any other options at this point. Accepting the towel is the easy part, though, because Shiro doesn't make any movement after he has it in his hands, just stares down at it like a helpless baby. Keith takes the towel back and tries to wipe the water off his face.

“Come on, man, take this off,” Keith says gently, trying to peel the suit jacket off Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro does his best to help, but he’s clearly a little drunk and crying and not at his best right now. Keith tries to be sympathetic as he helps Shiro get undressed down to his underwear, leaving the clothes in a pile to deal with later, and then he wraps the towel around Shiro’s shoulders to comfort him. Keith does his best to not stare at the water droplets trailing down Shiro’s abs, but three seconds of weakness while Shiro wipes water out of his eyes seems okay.

His hair is still dripping, but this will do.

“Do you need to take your arm off to dry?” Keith asks. He knows the prosthetic is water-resistant, but it’s not perfect and Shiro tries his best not to get it wet.

“Yeah. Stupid arm,” Shiro grumbles. He presses the release button and tugs the arm out of its port, looking ready to drop it on the ground with the rest of his clothes, so Keith steps in and snatches it out of his hand for protection. Shiro loves this arm, actually—he programmed it to light up in rainbow colors when he puts it on every morning—but an upset Shiro is a disgruntled Shiro who is prone to lashing out.

Keith is a very good friend. He carefully settles the prosthetic in his bedroom for safe-keeping and digs up for Shiro a pair of Hunk’s sweatpants and an ownerless hoodie that lives in the hall closet. Then Keith sends him into Keith’s room to get dressed while Keith throws Shiro’s soaked clothing over the bar in the bathroom that holds up the shower curtain.

He knocks gently on his door. “You good?” he asks.

The sound that answers is pathetic but vaguely affirmative, so Keith nudges his way inside. 

Shiro is dressed but doesn’t exactly look happy about it, sitting miserably on the edge of Keith’s bed with his prosthetic arm detached and powered off beside him. He’s no longer crying, but his eyes are still puffy and his face red. The full-size mattress looks absolutely tiny with him on it, but Keith gingerly sits next to him and finds plenty of space.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “Nothing to talk about,” he murmurs. “It’s—it’s just over.”

Keith’s mouth twists and he gently leans his shoulder against Shiro’s, aiming to comfort him as much as he can. “You know,” he says, “I was thinking about making cookies. Want some?”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches with the vaguest hint of a smile. “Can I help?”

“No way in hell,” Keith says, “but I’ll let you lick the spoon.”

***

Shiro retrieves two bottles of beer from the fridge at Keith’s request and hops up to sit on the counter, leaving Keith space to work next to the stove. Keith gathers all his ingredients from the pantry and lines them up in the order he’ll use them, which helps keep him on track while he bakes. He pulls his favorite mixing bowl and the handheld mixer down from the cabinet next to Shiro’s head and a rubber spatula from the utensil holder, already falling into the quietly pleased headspace he always gets when he bakes. Shiro doesn’t seem like he wants to talk and that works just fine for Keith, so he thanks Shiro for getting the beer and lets the silence fall. 

Keith has this recipe memorized. Chocolate chip cookies aren’t rocket science, but he’s proud of his recipe and the tweaks he’s made to it over the years. 

Two and a quarter cups of flour, sifted together with a teaspoon of salt and a half teaspoon of baking soda and baking powder each. Two sticks of butter creamed together with equal parts white and brown sugar until it’s fluffy and light, and then two eggs and a generous splash of vanilla. His secret ingredient is a scoop of molasses: it gives the cookies a deep, full flavor, complementing the sweetness without overwhelming anything. Plus, Keith likes the idea that there’s something special he puts in, even if he doesn’t hide what it is if anyone asks him.

One time he let Shiro crack the eggs into the bowl and run the mixer while Keith cleaned off the molasses-covered spoon—they found bits of eggshell in the baked cookies because Shiro hadn’t noticed them fall in. Keith will never make the mistake of asking Shiro to help again, but the memory brings a fond smile to his face as he carefully beats in the flour mixture. 

He measures two cups of chocolate chunks into the bowl and then looks at the handful remaining in the bag, contemplating the importance of chocolate.

“What the hell,” Keith says, upending the rest of them into the bowl.

It gets a snort out of Shiro, the first noise he’s made since he sat down to watch. Keith shoots him a private smile as he folds the chocolate chips into the dough with the spatula, doing his best to make them evenly distributed. It’s a difficult thing to judge. 

Keith gives Shiro the detachable beaters from the mixer to lick the remaining dough off them while Keith readies a pan with parchment paper to scoop the dough onto.  _ Should  _ you eat raw cookie dough? No, not really. Does Shiro pout for an hour when Keith withholds the opportunity? Yes, he does, and Keith just wants to make him happy.

The first batch makes twelve cookies, and Keith pops them in the oven as he starts a timer on his phone. 

“Ten minutes,” he says to Shiro. Keith reaches for his beer and takes a drink just to have something to do with his hands. 

It isn’t awkward spending quiet time alone with Shiro, it never could be. But Keith has never been good at talking about the whole feelings thing, and he fully admits that the last time Shiro went through a breakup, Keith enlisted Hunk to do all the talking while Keith provided silent support. He does his best to be the comfort Shiro needs, but sometimes what Shiro really needs is a big Hunk Hug. Hunk Hugs are the best for everyone.

But there’s no one else here this time. His roommates—Hunk, Lance, and Pidge—are at a house party several blocks down the street, and even if he called them back, they would hardly be in the best position to comfort Shiro, not while they’re drunk and having a good time. 

Keith has to suck it up and talk Shiro through his break-up.

“Shiro,” Keith says, regretting it immediately because he hasn’t yet figured out what he wants to say. “I—um.”

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro says. His voice is tired and drawn and Keith wants to fix that for him.

“Just talk to me,” Keith pleads. He shuffles closer to Shiro and tries to catch his eye. “Tell me what happened, Shiro.”

“Told you, there’s nothing to say,” Shiro says. He’s talking to his bottle of beer and not to Keith, but that’s good enough. “I got another one of those  _ it’s not you, it’s me _ speeches and then he picked up his menu and asked me what I wanted to eat. That’s it.”

“Wait, he broke up with you at a  _ restaurant?”  _ Keith asks.

“Yup.” Shiro pops the last letter of the word and then he drains the rest of his beer, tipping his head all the way back to get the final drops.

“Fuck, Shiro, I’m sorry,” Keith says earnestly. 

“I was so excited to go out to a nice place, I wore that stupid tie, and he thought I was just gonna—eat dinner with him. As friends.” Shiro laughs humorlessly. “So stupid. And I just—I don’t get it. Last week I told him I wanted to adopt a dog after graduation and he said we should—we should adopt one together.”

“What?” Keith asks, fury rising inside of him. Is assault justified if he just wants to punch his best friend’s asshole ex in the face one time?

“I thought he—he wanted to stay with me.”

Shiro’s voice sounds wrecked and wobbly, like he’s seconds away from bursting into tears again, and Keith doesn’t know what to  _ do. _ He reaches out gently and puts a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, but it just means he can feel Shiro’s body shake as he tries to hold in his hitched breath and keep them from turning into sobs.

Keith doesn’t know where Shiro gets his romanticized ideas about  _ forever.  _ He dates all these idiot college boys—and Keith can call them that because Keith is an idiot college boy, too—who stomp on his heart the same way Shiro’s high school sweetheart did over Thanksgiving break Shiro’s freshman year. Keith didn’t know Shiro then but he’s heard the story often enough; it was the breakup that ignited Shiro’s unending attempts to find love only to have each one end cruelly. And then, more often than not, he comes to Keith, upset and needing comfort, and Keith has to look after him because he  _ loves _ this idiot as a best friend and maybe something more and he can’t stand to see Shiro like this. Keith doesn’t even think Shiro and what’s-his-name were together for more than three months, anyway. Why the hell is he even thinking about adopting a dog with someone he barely knows?

Because he’s Shiro, Keith admits to himself. And Shiro sees the best in everyone, even the people who don’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Keith says softly.

Shiro shrugs the shoulder Keith isn't touching. “Nothing I can do about it now,” he says hollowly. “Except maybe never show my face on campus again.”

“Yeah, like you’d ever skip class,” Keith jokes. It doesn’t land the way he wants it to but it gets Shiro to agree, however reluctantly. Then the timer for the cookies rings and Keith steps back to retrieve them from the oven. The delicious scent of melted chocolate and freshly baked goods wafts through the kitchen and Keith can already tell that this is going to be a particularly good batch. 

"Maybe I just shouldn't date for a while," Shiro says contemplatively as he watches Keith carefully lift the parchment paper away from the baking sheet to make room for the second batch while the first cools enough to eat. "I feel like I should take the hint the universe is sending me."

"Definitely," Keith says without thinking.

Silence falls and it takes Keith a moment to realize what he’s said. His cheeks burn as he looks guiltily at Shiro—this is why he’s bad at being a shoulder to cry on for anyone, even his friends. Keeping his thoughts in check is impossible, especially when he’s so certain that he’s right. Shiro  _ does _ need to take a break from serially dating his way through every gay, bi, pan, or otherwise homosexually-inclined guy on campus. Every time a relationship ends, he finds a new one within the month, convinced that  _ this one  _ is  _ the one.  _ And it never is.

“You’re supposed to be supporting me,” Shiro says, but he sounds resigned. He should be. This is what he gets for coming to Keith for this kind of thing.

"I  _ am  _ supporting you. With honesty," Keith argues, even though he admits to himself that honesty doesn’t need to mean  _ being a dick. _ "This is the third guy you've dated this school year and winter semester just started! Jeez, Shiro. Take a break. Take care of  _ yourself _ for a change."

Shiro snorts. There's not a lick of resentment on his face. "Tell me how you really feel," he challenges.

"You wanna know?" Keith asks.

"Yeah."

Keith turns back to his cookies, spooning out lumps of dough onto a fresh piece of parchment paper. His hands need the distraction. "I don't even know the name of the guy who just broke up with you," he says, "because you never introduce your friends and your boyfriends. And I know I'm not a good person for advice about this stuff but . . . c'mon, Shiro. How much did he really mean to you?"

Shiro sighs loudly but he doesn't sound mad. "We had a lot of fun together," he says, which is a great sentiment but he doesn't say anything more than that.

“People say that about their friends, too,” Keith says. He slides the cookie tray back into the oven and restarts his timer. “Look, I just think—as your best friend, I think it can’t hurt to take a break from dating.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything, and when Keith finally looks back at him, he finds that Shiro actually looks . . . considering. 

“You might be right,” Shiro says. “Maybe.”

“Have a cookie,” Keith says. “Just—think about it. It could be a good thing.”

“I will.” 

Shiro’s tired face gives Keith the first real smile of the night, subdued as it is. Something settles in Keith’s chest when he sees that expression and he firmly nudges the sheet of cookies in Shiro’s direction. “Twist my arm,” Shiro says, and he snatches up a cookie and takes a giant bite out of it, moaning in the process. The noise makes Keith’s cheeks heat and he snaps his gaze back to the cookies to select one from the edge.

“Good?” Keith asks.

_ “So  _ good, Keith,” Shiro says. “You’re a magician.”

Keith rolls his eyes and takes a bite for himself. Gooey chocolate, buttery cookie, the warmth of the molasses underneath it all—oh, he was right. This batch is particularly good.

They devour half the pan right there in the kitchen, and once the second tray cools, Keith puts them all in a Tupperware container to take and hide in his room. More than once, Keith has dealt with his asshole roommates coming back from a party and gorging themselves on his hard work without asking. Keith learned his lesson and no longer leaves baked goods out unless he wants them to disappear.

Without comment, Keith and Shiro head back to Keith’s room, cookies and the rest of the six-pack of beer in hand. They settle side by side on his bed as Keith pulls up Netflix on his laptop and then hands it to Shiro—broken heart gets to pick the movie tonight.

They watch a romantic comedy about a thirteen-year-old girl named Jenna who suddenly wakes up as a thirty-year-old and realizes her childhood best friend Matt is the love of her life. Shiro says it’s a classic and he sniffles through the last half of the movie, and Keith just quietly keeps him supplied with as many cookies as he might need. Three beers are enough to keep Shiro quietly drunk and ignorant of how many calories he’s putting in his body, which is what he deserves tonight. Shiro fully cries at the end, but Keith can’t judge. He’s gotten more than a little invested in the plot and characters by this point and there might be tears in his eyes, too.

“That movie always gets me,” Shiro says. He wipes the corner of his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“It was good,” Keith agrees.

“I just wish that wasn’t so hard to find, you know?” Shiro says with a heavy sigh. “Just—someone who actually wants to  _ be _ with me, not just go out with me for a few months before they get bored.”

Keith bites his tongue.

“Jenna had the right idea.” Shiro’s head drops to the side to rest on Keith’s shoulder. “Maybe I should date you, then, since you’ve been my best friend for three years. That’s close enough to what she did.”

Keith’s heart pounds in his chest and his throat does something funny that doesn’t feel like laughter or tears. “I’m not gonna be your rebound, Shirogane,” he says, but his voice comes out awful and hoarse. He coughs to make it go away. God, he can’t do this for much longer. “You just agreed to no more dating.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Shiro hums to himself and rolls more into Keith’s space, head burrowing into the crook of Keith’s neck so deep that his next words come out muffled. “You’re comfy. Can we sleep now?”

Keith barely suppresses a sigh. “We’re still on top of the covers,” he says. “I’ll get cold.”

Shiro groans like Keith is everything that’s wrong with the world and releases his hold with a great amount of reluctance. They pull the blankets down and climb back in—Keith takes a side and a pillow, and Shiro squirms around until he can throw an arm over Keith’s chest and smash his face into Keith’s shoulder. Keith swallows hard—it isn’t weird to share a bed with his best friend or hold him when he’s upset and needs comfort, but bedtime cuddling is different, somehow. 

Whatever. Shiro can help him keep the winter chill away. He’s too tired to overthink this.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” Keith whispers. 

“Night, Keith. You’re the best.”

***

Thankfully, despite all indications otherwise, Keith’s life is not a romantic comedy or a cutesy fanfic, so he doesn’t wake up to Shiro spooning him and nuzzling the back of his neck. He might wish that had actually happened, but it’s for the best that it doesn’t. Instead, Shiro wakes up before Keith and heads out into the living room to chill with Keith’s hungover roommates and watch some weird cartoon about fighting an evil space empire, leaving Keith to lay in bed and gather his thoughts so he doesn’t make a fool out of himself as soon as he gets up.

_ I should date you. _

Those words really came out of Shiro’s mouth, didn’t they? Keith is pretty sure he didn’t imagine that.

He covers his face with his hands and wishes he could scream into the air without anyone hearing him and running to check on him. Truly, the worst part of being Shiro’s friend and watching his romantic life constantly explode is knowing just how good Keith would be to him. Never ever would Keith sit Shiro down over dinner and tell him it wasn’t working out anymore—he wouldn’t do that over text, right before class, during exam week, or shouted across the quad. 

Shiro wants to get married and buy a real four-bedroom house with a white picket fence that hasn’t housed generations of college students. He wants to adopt dogs and cats and maybe even children, one day, if his partner wanted it. Shiro wants a honeymoon in southern Japan and anniversary vacations every five years to a new country. And he deserves it all more than anyone Keith has ever met: Shiro is kind and good and has spent the last four years suffering his way through a biology major because he wants to go to medical school and become a pediatrician. He’s still waiting to hear back on his applications to three different medical programs, and if he gets rejected from a single one of them, Keith will probably have to burn that university to the ground.

Keith loves Shiro more fiercely than anyone he has ever met. And it’s okay if their relationship has to be platonic—it’s okay if that’s all Shiro ever wants from him. Keith just wants to know that Shiro is happy, in the end.

But it drives him fucking crazy to know that everything Shiro wants—everything he’s ever hoped to get out of a romantic relationship—Keith would happily and wholeheartedly give him. He wouldn’t forget Shiro’s birthday and send him a text that just says  _ HAHAHA OOPS _ as an apology. No, Keith would bake Shiro a million cakes and might even brave the terrible world of fondant to make Shiro’s cake into a rocketship.

It’s not even funny anymore how many terrible, awful, shitty boyfriends Shiro has had. But the universe must think it’s hilarious.

***

It takes Shiro a week to come back to equilibrium. He spends a lot of time at Keith’s house hanging out with whoever is home, and they’re more than happy to have him. Shiro is one of those people who’s just always welcome wherever he goes: his sly but good-natured sense of humor is always entertaining and the next Friday night he shows up on their doorstep with a shy grin, four pizzas, and a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Who could turn down a man like that?

***

“So are you gonna, like, ask Shiro out yet?”

Keith nearly cuts his finger off when Hunk asks the question. He’s dicing onions for Hunk’s famous chili, which means his eyes are watering and itching but he is manfully powering through because onions will not defeat him. That does not mean he has the mental capacity to also deal with—whatever is happening now.

“Why would I do that?” Keith asks with a particularly snappy chop of his knife. Just to remind Hunk how good he is with knives.

“I don’t know, it just seems like you guys have been attached at the hip ever since he dumped Brody,” Hunk says with a big shrug. “Kind of thought you were gonna get over your pining thing finally, but it’s cool if you don’t want to ask him out.”

Hunk seems remarkably unconcerned that he’s busy upending Keith’s entire worldview right now. First of all, Keith has never told  _ anyone  _ about his feelings for Shiro because those are top fucking secret and not to be shared with a single soul under any possible circumstances. Second of all, Keith will not accept the fact that Shiro dated a man named Brody. He will  _ not. _

“Shiro and I aren’t attached anywhere,” Keith says as levelly as he can. “And I don’t want to ask him out.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Keith says. Is that so hard to understand?

“Huh,” Hunk says. 

“Shiro’s taking a break from dating right now, remember?” Keith points out.

“Ohhh,” Hunk says with feeling. “So you’re gonna ask him out when he’s ready to. I get it. That’s really sweet of you, Keith!”

“Oh my god, that is not what I said,” Keith snaps.

“What didn’t you say?” the voice of Keith’s sworn enemy says as he enters the room. Fucking Lance always knows when Keith least wants him to turn up.

“Keith’s gonna wait until Shiro’s feeling up to dating again to ask him out,” Hunk says to Lance. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Ayy, that’s smart, you don’t want to be a rebound,” Lance says sagely, like he thinks he has any sort of good dating advice for anyone. Keith wants to slap him. With the knife covered in onion juice.

“I want to stop talking about this,” Keith says loudly. He has to communicate his wants and needs to maintain healthy roommate relationships.

Unfortunately, it takes another twenty minutes of Hunk and Lance loudly and rudely discussing Keith’s non-existent love life before they can all move on from this scarring and awful conversation. 

Keith misses the days when he lived alone in the dorms.

***

Maybe Keith and Shiro are a little attached at the hip, though.

As a mechanical engineering major, Keith has never had a class with Shiro. Their classes generally aren’t even in the same buildings and they have very different schedules during the day.

But somehow, Keith has seen Shiro at least three times a day every day this week. The campus coffee shop, the library study rooms, Keith’s house, Shiro’s apartment that he shares with his fellow seniors Allura and Matt, the engineering building, in the library stacks where Keith’s work-study job makes him reshelve and organize approximately a million books a week. Shiro is  _ everywhere.  _ He texts Keith every day exactly when Keith’s classes get out—even if, as Keith knows because he has Shiro’s schedule memorized too, Shiro is also in class. And don’t get Keith wrong: he’s perfectly happy about this situation because it’s impossible for him to get sick of Shiro. They meet up at the gym for three days in a row and Keith mourns when Shiro has a group project and make the fourth day because Keith  _ loves _ the sleeveless shirts Shiro wears at the gym. Very revealing shirts and extra time with his best friend is absolutely nothing to complain about.

But it . . . is a little unusual. It’s normal to talk to or see Shiro pretty much every day, but this is a tad excessive. 

Keith reasons it has something to do with Shiro being newly committed to actually  _ being single.  _ He’s got a lot more free time now that he doesn’t have a boyfriend or prospective boyfriend to hang out with every night or surreptitiously follow around in the library to talk to while he shelves books. 

It makes Keith really happy that he’s the person Shiro wants to seek out like this. 

The freak warm spell finally breaks at the end of January and winter returns with a vengeful blizzard, and suddenly Shiro is appearing in front of Keith with a thermos full of hot chocolate he made at home and brought specifically for Keith to take to class with him. Keith is hesitant to drink it but Shiro promises all he did was heat up the milk and mix in the hot chocolate powder, and it turns out to be delicious.

The next night, Shiro invites Keith to a local art gallery because a friend of his has a few pieces on show in the student collection. It’s not far from Shiro’s house, so Keith heads home with him after class for dinner.

“You like spaghetti, right?” Shiro says.

“Yeah,” Keith answers. “What, are you gonna cook for me?”

Inexplicably, Shiro blushes. “I said we would have dinner here!” he says. “What did you think I meant?”

“Okay,” Keith says with a laugh. “I thought we would order Chinese, but spaghetti’s good.” He knows Shiro  _ can  _ put together a basic meal to feed himself because he’s an adult, but mostly he relies on a partial campus meal plan and supplements that with a lot of frozen meals from Trader Joe’s. Shiro definitely doesn’t cook for other people. 

But tonight Keith sits in Shiro’s kitchen that night and watches him painstakingly follow a recipe to turn ground turkey, breadcrumbs, spices, and an egg into meatballs. He puts the pasta on to boil while the meatballs are in the oven and doesn’t talk to Keith so he can keep his concentration, but Keith is too fascinated to care. He can’t believe he’s watching Shiro slowly but successfully dice an onion and crush the garlic in a handheld press with an IKEA sticker on the handle. 

He sautes them together in an exactly measured tablespoon of olive oil and then upends a jar of pasta sauce over the pan, bringing it to a gentle simmer. Keith stares open-mouthed at Shiro pulling the tray of meatballs from the oven and gently placing them in the sauce.

Keith isn’t sure he knows this man.

The pasta comes out cooked a little past al dente but the meatballs are delicious and moist. Keith can’t help the noise that comes out of his mouth when he takes his first bite—part shock and part joy. He wouldn’t believe Shiro made this, had he not just watched Shiro put the dish together before his very eyes. 

“Yeah?” Shiro says, a bright grin on his face. “I’ve been learning.”

“Shiro, the last time I saw you cook, you burned scrambled eggs,” Keith says. “This is incredible.”

Shiro’s smile gets even wider and he digs his fork into his own plate. “Hunk told me the trick about putting the onions in the sauce to make it taste better,” he says proudly. “I don’t think I’m up to actually making real spaghetti sauce from scratch, but—”

“I can’t believe you made meatballs,” Keith says. He’s having a religious experience right now.

Shiro chuckles and sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. 

Keith devours his meal in minutes and then goes back for seconds. Shiro laughs in disbelief when Keith asks if he can have more, but he waves Keith toward the stove.

Incredible.

They strike out for the art gallery after washing the dishes together. It’s a clear evening, the sky already dark with a gibbous moon hanging low above them, its light glittering off the foot of snow on the ground. Their boots crunch across the packed down snow on the sidewalk, hands stuffed into coat pockets. Keith feels so alive, his sleepy food coma beat back by the brisk breeze.

“Are you cold?” Shiro asks.

“I’m okay.”

“The wind is freezing, you should have worn a hat or something. Here.” Shiro stops them there, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and unwinds his scarf from his neck. He loops it around Keith’s neck, wrapping him up snug and tucking the ends into the top of his coat. Shiro is so close and Keith blushes. Thank god for cold, dark nights that don’t out him for that.

“There,” Shiro says quietly. “You never look warm enough, you know. Do you even own a scarf?”

“Maybe?” Keith says. His voice cracks embarrassingly on the word.

“Seriously, Keith?” 

Keith shrugs. 

Shiro huffs and stares at him, his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Well, now you do. The scarf is yours and I better see you wearing it.”

“Shiro—”

“Nope, it’s your scarf now,” Shiro says loudly. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Keith spluttering and scrambling to catch up as his brain clatters excitedly around his head. What is  _ happening  _ right now?

The whole night doesn’t feel real. First the spaghetti, then the scarf, then Shiro holding the door open for him when they finally reach the art gallery. Keith argues with him over the scarf the whole rest of the way there, but Shiro is a stubborn little shit and he physically restrains Keith when he tries to take the scarf off and give it back. Asshole.

The scarf . . . does smell like Shiro, though. And it is warm. And soft. And maybe, just maybe, if Keith buries his nose deep into it and inhales the scent of Shiro’s cologne, it’s sort of like being wrapped up in Shiro’s arms.

Maybe.

The art exhibit is cool. It’s a bit above Keith’s head—something about post-industrialization and militarization and exchange theory translated into intricate white paper cuts arranged on a black wall. He spends a lot of time staring at one that might be a lion while Shiro goes to congratulate his friend on her installation.

A voice interrupts his meditation on the maybe-lion-maybe-spaceship.

“Are you enjoying the art?”

Keith turns to meet the voice’s owner: a man in a tan felted trench coat with an undercut of tightly coiled hair and a jawline sharp enough to rival Shiro’s. Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t have a moment of weakness while he processed the handsome face in front of him.

“It’s, uh, it’s cool,” Keith says.

“Good,” the man says, like he was planning to judge Keith based on his answer. “My friend Nadia designed it.”

“They’re very intricate,” Keith says, supposing that facts are the way to go if he doesn’t want to piss off the friend of the artist. He doesn’t know much about art galleries, but he’s pretty sure you don’t want to insult the artist or their friends. 

“Name’s Kinkade,” the man says. He sticks out his hand and Keith takes it.

“Keith,” he answers. Kinkade’s grip is sure and strong in their handshake, but he isn’t overly friendly about it, which Keith appreciates. He’s bad enough at talking to strangers.

“Are you here alone?” Kinkade asks.

“Oh, no, I’m—”

“He’s here with me.”

Shiro steps out of nowhere to slot in beside Keith. A hand lands on the small of Keith’s back which is—weird, it’s weird, Shiro has never done that before. Still, Keith leans back into the touch; it feels natural to sink into Shiro.

“Ah,” Kinkade says, and he smiles warmly at them both. “I’ll leave you to admire the art. It was good to meet you, Keith.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” Keith says slowly.

Kinkade slips away with a nod to Shiro and Keith doesn’t know  _ what  _ to think right now. He turns back to Shiro only to have a paper cup of red wine held before him. “Brought you this,” Shiro says sunnily. He does not move the hand resting on Keith’s back or put any extra space between them. “Mulled wine. They said it’s that, uh, witch one that you like.”

Keith takes a sip—Witches Brew, and piping hot. 

“Thank you,” Keith says. “You didn’t get any?”

“Nah, I don’t like red wine that much, I just saw it and thought you’d like some,” Shiro says dismissively. Keith doesn’t know what to do with that information. “So, you like the art?”

“It’s cool,” Keith says for the second time that night.

“Cool?”

Shiro’s side-eyed smirk is deadly and Keith elbows him before he gives his most honest opinion. “The description doesn’t make any sense, but. That one is cool.” Keith points to the lion-spaceship papercut. 

Shiro laughs like they’re in on a secret together. “I don’t get it either,” he admits. “But Nadia is in my group for class and she invited us all. She has a minor in art.”

“Biology and art?”

“Kinda weird, right? But she makes some cool stuff.”

Cool is the word of the evening. The art is cool. Nadia seems cool when Keith has the chance to meet her. Keith plays it cool when Shiro spots one of his exes across the room and does an about-face before he can be spotted—not that his tall, broad frame is easy to miss, but Keith doesn’t want to burst his bubble.

After the gallery, they wander around the neighborhood for a while, peering into shop windows and walking past bars blasting music for the Friday evening crowd. The night feels special and maybe a little magical with the snow on the ground and lights from the city’s winter holiday decorations still twinkling in the trees that line the sidewalks. Shiro walks Keith home even though they have to pass Shiro’s apartment to get there, and when Keith invites him in, Shiro just smiles and says he has an early meeting the next morning.

He gives Keith a giant hug before he leaves, wrapping Keith up tight in his arms for so long that Keith starts to wonder if something is wrong.

***

February sixth is a Sunday and, more importantly, is Allura’s twenty-second birthday. Shiro, like the good friend he is, volunteered to throw her a small party in their apartment to celebrate, which means Keith has been drafted to make the cake, Hunk to make the appetizers, and everyone else has booze and decorations split between them.

So that morning, Keith packs up half his baking supplies into the trunk of Shiro’s car (there’s no way in hell he’s carrying this much flour and sugar  _ and _ all of his springform pans and mixing bowls down the street in his arms, no) and hightails it over to the apartment so that he and Hunk can each have full reign over a kitchen. Shiro graciously helps him carry it all up to the third floor, and Keith gets down to work. That’s when he realizes no one living in this place owns anything approximating a teaspoon measurer, so Keith sprints down the street to grab his set of measuring cups and spoons and is back in the apartment in ten minutes.

In that time, Shiro has carefully unpacked all of Keith’s supplies and set them up in the order that Keith likes them. 

“Thank you,” Keith says, feeling strangely at a loss.

Shiro looks proud of himself. “You’re welcome,” he says. “I don’t know if the ingredients are all in the exact order you need them, but they’re close.”

“It’s—it’s great, really. Um.” Keith blinks and then shakes his head a little. “Okay.”

“And here’s this,” Shiro says, carefully setting his iPad up off to the side of the ingredients, its case folded behind it so that it stands up for easy viewing. “It should be easier to read the recipe than on your phone.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “Yeah. That’s great, um, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome!”

God, Keith doesn’t know what’s going on here. He just wants to bake, not spend time dissecting every minute detail of Shiro's actions. Shiro is a good friend and that's all, and Keith won’t read into this just because he had fun, sexy dreams last night that prominently featured Shiro.  _ Baking. _

So bake he does. 

Keith is making a three-layer snickerdoodle cake with brown sugar cinnamon cream cheese frosting. It sounds far more complicated than it is, thankfully, but the recipe has never disappointed him: not too sweet, not too heavy on the cinnamon, with a light and fluffy cake. It’s fun and sophisticated and Keith likes making it, even with Shiro sitting on the other side of the kitchen island and unabashedly watching him work.

He lines three cake pans with parchment paper carefully, cutting perfect circles by folding squares into long, slim triangles and trimming only one of the ends. Then he mixes the dry ingredients in one bowl and sets it to the side. 

Cream the butter and sugar, beat in three eggs, two egg whites and vanilla, methodically stop to scrape down the sides with a spatula, add and mix the dry ingredients until just incorporated, and then slowly pour in the buttermilk while still mixing. He falls into the rhythm of it and forgets even Shiro’s eyes on him, his hands moving in a dance so familiar that he doesn’t even think about it. He measures the batter out into the pans. It probably isn’t perfectly even between the three of them, but that’s alright with him. It’s not a problem as long as he keeps an eye on it while it bakes.

Keith preheats the oven with some struggle over the unfamiliar buttons and dials. Shiro is gracious and doesn’t interrupt him.

Then he whips up a quick cinnamon crumble, mashing cinnamon, brown sugar, flour, and melted butter together with a fork until it looks like something he wants to shove his face in. The crumble gets sprinkled right on top of each of the cakes.

It feels like no time has passed by the time they’re in the oven and baking.

“You’re incredible,” Shiro says as Keith is in the middle of wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and staring down at the mess he made of the counter. There’s flour everywhere, which is not normal for Keith.

“What?” he says stupidly. 

Shiro just laughs, grinning at Keith with all his teeth. “I can’t believe how quick you did that,” he says. “You made three cakes appear out of nothing.”

“It’s all the same batter,” Keith says.

“Still amazing.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that so he just rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer further. He's not going to let Shiro fluster him with praise, no matter how much his heart beats excitedly for Shiro. This is his art form but there’s nothing mystical or surprising about it—to Keith, baking is at its core a science of chemical reactions. He doesn’t cook like Hunk does, based on intuition and feeling and mood, and for similar reasons, Hunk doesn’t bake like Keith. Keith has his own mental library of recipes and methods and food science that add up to very precise results. He does a lot of awful, difficult math in his engineering classes, but baking is a much simpler and more rewarding math. The acid in buttermilk breaks down gluten to make the cake soft, and then baking soda helps to neutralize the acids. It’s science and math, two things Keith excels at. 

It’s the best kind of math, actually, because it gives him a much more pleasant result than his differential equations homework.

He’ll make the frosting now and store it in the fridge until just before the party, when the cakes will be completely cooled and ready to be frosted. This is the most complex part of the dish: it takes butter, cream cheese, brown sugar, powdered sugar, heavy cream, vanilla extract, salt, and an absolutely  _ heaping  _ tablespoon of cinnamon. When it’s fluffy and soft, Keith swipes his finger along the side of the bowl and sticks it in his mouth to taste.

“Mmmm,” he says with feeling. God, he loves a good cream cheese frosting.

“That good?” Shiro asks softly.

Keith’s eyes fly open to meet Shiro’s. He doesn’t know what he sees in Shiro’s gaze just then because it flickers and is gone in a split second. Keith’s finger falls from his lips.

“Uh. You should—here.” Keith ejects the whisks from the hand mixer and hands them to Shiro. "Try for yourself."

He then watches as Shiro sticks an entire whisk in his mouth to lick off as much frosting as he can, which Keith finds a confounding thing to witness. Usually, people licking things is supposed to be sexy—especially when it's Shiro doing the licking. This, though, is the farthest thing from sexy and it still makes Keith smile.

“Oh, that’s so good, Keith,” Shiro says in a rush as soon as the whisk leaves his mouth. “Wow, Allura is going to love it.”

“I hope so.” Keith gives him a small private smile, then scrapes the frosting into a large Tupperware container while Shiro finishes licking the whisks clean. The cakes will be done in a few minutes, and then all Keith has to do for the rest of the day is slam out problem sets for class. He’ll probably head to the campus library to get out of the way of the party decorating crew.

“I never asked,” Shiro says, interrupting his thoughts. “How did you get into baking?”

Keith glances up at him in surprise. No one’s ever asked that before. Shiro looks genuinely curious about the answer and there’s a smudge of frosting at the corner of his lips that makes Keith ache to watch him lick off. Or lick it off for him. Whatever. You're not supposed to think those things about your best friend who's finally taking a real break from dating to take care of himself for once.

Keith shakes his head. Thank god for Shiro also offering up a distraction, honestly.

“Uh, it was a home ec class in high school, actually,” Keith says with a short laugh. He puts his mixing bowl in the sink so he can do the dishes after he wipes down the counters. “I transferred into this high school halfway through the year and it was one of the only electives with room for new students. I just . . . really liked the baking section. And my foster family was pretty supportive of it, which was nice. They let me work on their garden to earn money for special ingredients or supplies.” He shrugs—it’s been a long time since he thought about that part of his life. Baking wasn’t some special thing that changed his life or whatever, but it’s a hobby that he loves and is proud to share with his friends. 

“Have you ever thought about going to pastry school?” Shiro asks. “Or opening a bakery one day?”

Keith shakes his head. “Nah. I like it as a hobby. It’s something for me and for the people I care about, but I wouldn’t want to be stressed out trying to figure out how many scones I needed to make every day or something.”

“Fair enough.”

“I like going to bakeries though,” Keith adds. “Real ones.”

Shiro stifles a laugh. “What makes a  _ real  _ bakery?”

“There’s a bunch of coffee shops around here that sell baked goods to go with the coffee,” Keith explains. “But most of them don’t make any of it themselves. And that's fine, but . . . I don't know, I like knowing who made something."

Shiro leans forward on his elbows. “What’s your favorite thing to get at a real bakery?”

Keith bites his bottom lip as he considers that. “I like to buy freshly made sourdough,” he says slowly. “Because I don’t have the starter to really make that myself, but . . . also the cakes. Any kind of cake.”

“Cakes, huh?” Shiro says. His chin lands in his metal palm while he taps his other fingers on the counter. “There’s gotta be a bakery around here somewhere.”

Keith shrugs. “Maybe somewhere further away,” he says. “Not in town.”

“I’m gonna find you a bakery to go to,” Shiro promises, sitting up straighter with a determined glint in his eyes. Keith recognizes it as Shiro's  _ too stubborn to function  _ expression. “And I’m gonna buy you a slice of every cake on the menu.”

There aren’t words to respond to that with, at least not in Keith’s vocabulary. He stares at Shiro and tries to make something work, but all Keith can hear is the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. That sounded . . . awfully romantic, which Keith  _ knows _ is just his brain being stupid and overly hopeful about things that will never come to pass, but. 

God, but it doesn’t stop him from dwelling on it for the rest of the day.

Shiro helps out with cleaning the dishes and transporting everything back to Keith’s house where Hunk and a newly enlisted Pidge are hard at work. Pidge is apparently on prep duty, and when Keith offers to help out, they shoo him away.

“Go do your work,” Pidge says. “I’m gonna be  _ pissed _ if I finish this quickly and have to go do my homework.”

Keith doesn’t know how the hell Pidge is hanging onto the top GPA in their year with an attitude like that, but they’ve always been like that. Maybe that’s just what works.

In the end, Keith’s cake comes together beautifully and the party is a magnificent spectacle of holo streamers and fairy lights. Matt puts his cocktail making skills to the test, and Allura hugs every single one of them no less than four times over the course of the night, each hug more teary and giggly than the last. Keith gets to spend the whole night hanging out with Shiro. 

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

***

Thursday, Keith wakes up from an after class nap because his phone is vibrating between his face and his pillow. It is a very unpleasant sensation and an unnecessarily rude awakening for someone who was just trying to  _ sleep. _ God.

Keith’s bleary eyes struggle to make sense of what’s going on. His phone says Shiro is calling him, which is fine but kind of odd because Keith hasn’t spoken to Shiro on the phone in . . . ever. He stares blankly at it for a moment before his finger slides over the answer call button—Shiro wouldn’t call him without reason, right?

“Sh’ro?” Keith slurs into the phone.

Shiro’s words don’t make sense, but that’s Keith’s fault. This is exactly why he doesn’t ever take naps during the day except in dire circumstances: it scrambles his brain like an egg. And, yes, maybe he shouldn’t have stayed up until six in the morning to kick Lance’s ass at Mario Kart when he had a class at ten, but—what’s done is done. 

What’s not done is Shiro’s excited yelling.

“Shiro,” he says firmly. Then he says it two more times until Shiro actually stops talking. “I just woke up. Say it again.”

“I got into med school,” Shiro gushes. “Keith, I really—I’m gonna be a doctor.”

Keith sits bolt upright. “Oh my god,” he says.

“I know.” Every single syllable out of Shiro’s mouth comes out vibrating with joy and excitement, and it’s infectious enough that happiness blooms in Keith’s belly and rises through his chest.

“I’m so proud of you, Shiro,” he says. “Which school was it?”

“The, uh, the one in California,” Shiro says. 

“That’s great,” Keith says, even as his heart sinks. He doesn’t remember the exact name of the school but he knows how excited Shiro was about that option. It’s a great program, apparently. And also very far away. “We—fuck, we have to celebrate.”

“Yeah, Allura and I are on our way to yours right now,” Shiro says with a laugh. “I just . . . I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“I can,” Keith says with determination. “They would have been stupid not to let you in.”

And that’s all that needs to be said about that.

Shiro and Allura arrive shortly to a round of excited shouting and hugs from all of Keith’s roommates. Keith hangs in the background and just tries not to stare at the wide, sparkling grin stretched over Shiro’s entire face, lit up as brightly as the sun. He’s beautiful, so beautiful that Keith can’t bear to look at him.

He retreats to the kitchen. Keith should bake something: tonight is the night for cake, but he doesn’t have enough time for it to cool. Cupcakes, though—that might work.

Shiro surprises Keith in the kitchen while he’s browsing through the bookmarks on his phone for potential recipes. He remembers seeing a Valentine’s Day themed recipe recently that sounded like it was made for Shiro, so Keith does his best to recover the page.

Footsteps sound behind him just as Keith is triumphantly opening the correct recipe. 

“Hey,” a voice says.

Keith turns around directly into Shiro’s space. He wraps Keith up in a tight, one-armed hug, prosthetic nowhere to be found, and Keith instinctively hugs him back. Shiro smells so good, like the clean-scented cologne he puts on every morning faded into the warm smell of skin. He’s the only person Keith knows who wears cologne and it’s casually devastating.

Shiro drops his head so he can rest his cheek on the top of Keith’s head. 

“What are you up to in here?” he asks Keith quietly. 

“Gonna make cupcakes,” Keith answers. “We gotta celebrate.”

“My birthday’s in three weeks,” Shiro says, his body shaking with a soft laugh. “Not sure I’m meant to handle all the sugar and carbs you’ve been stuffing me with lately.”

“Shut up, you got into medical school today.” Keith squeezes Shiro tightly for just a beat and then he lets go, needing the space to get his heart rate and breathing back on track. Shiro is so difficult for him to be close to. “You deserve a cupcake.”

The look Shiro gives him is warm but indecipherable. Keith quirks an eyebrow but that just makes Shiro shake his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. 

“I’m not gonna win that argument,” Shiro admits.

Obviously he’s not.

***

Before Keith gets started on his cupcakes, he needs to choose a partner in crime who can be bribed into remedying the fact that Keith doesn’t own a car. He picks Allura because she is . . . how does Keith put this nicely? 

Allura is literally the only other person Keith wholeheartedly trusts to help out with his baking and touch his ingredients at any step in the process. Hunk is passable in a pinch, but he’s liable to start experimenting with flavors and ratios if Keith turns his back for too long. Pidge treats recipes like they’re authoritarian life ruiners. Matt doesn’t care enough. Shiro is dangerous in the kitchen, though recent events have demonstrated skill growth and Keith might have to reevaluate. Lance is just a dick who would switch the salt and sugar on Keith just to have a laugh.

Which leaves Keith with Allura. She’s kind of the best person ever—not super interested in baking as a hobby, but excellent with precise instructions and always excited to try strange ingredients or flavors. Also, she owns a car.

He corners Allura off to the side in the living room because he wants to try and keep the cupcake flavor a surprise for Shiro. “I have a huge favor to ask,” Keith tells her. “I want to make these cupcakes for Shiro.” He shows her a picture on his phone, and immediately knows he has her hooked: the pastel pink and brown swirled frosting is ridiculously cute.

“Valentine’s Day cupcakes?” she teases. 

“They’re not—”

“Of course not.” Allura winks. Keith stares back and doesn’t argue because he  _ does  _ need this favor.

He pulls a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and offers it to Allura. “Would you be willing to drive to the store and pick up a couple of ingredients for me?”

“Oh, excellent,” she says, taking the money to tuck in her pocket. “Matt needed limes to go with the tequila and I thought we should all get Shiro a gift. Just text me what you need? I’m taking Hunk, too.”

“Thank you, Allura,” he says gratefully. He doesn’t know what kind of gift is appropriate to get someone after they get accepted to medical school—a bottle of vodka, maybe? Or maybe his friends just celebrate all major milestones by having a drunken party and that’s warped Keith’s understanding of gifts.

“Anything for the lovebirds,” Allura says conspiratorially. Before Keith can splutter out a protest, she offers a playful salute and turns away, collecting Hunk on her way out the door.

Keith grumbles to himself.  _ Lovebirds.  _ That doesn’t even make sense.

He texts Allura to pick up freeze dried strawberries and a large tub of Nutella because someone—Lance, it was  _ definitely  _ Lance, Keith can feel this—ate the rest of it and didn’t buy another one. Lance might not be the worst roommate ever, but he’s also far from ideal.

Just as Allura and Hunk slip out the door, Matt stumbles in and proceeds to unload what seems like half of a bar out of his backpack.

“Who’s ready to get fucked up for Shiro?” Matt shouts.

“I have class in the morning,” Pidge complains.

The Holts stare at each other for five long seconds and then burst out laughing as one. Pidge demands the first drink after Shiro.

Keith turns back to the kitchen feeling freshly renewed and ready to get baking. Just the thought of this recipe makes him hungry: Nutella-filled vanilla cupcakes with strawberry and chocolate frosting. It’s a new recipe and therefore something of an experiment, but it’s too perfect for Shiro who would probably eat fruit dipped in chocolate for every meal if he was allowed. 

The cupcake recipe itself is easy. Keith gets his ingredients in line and preheats the oven with ease. Step one is to rapidly bring his wet ingredients up to room temperature, so he puts the milk, sour cream, and butter in the microwave for thirty seconds each until they feel no longer cold to the touch. He uses two bowls to carefully separate his eggs, cracking them in half and then carefully slipping the yolk back and forth from shell to shell until all the white has slid off. The leftover yolks go into a tiny lidded container appropriated from Hunk and then to the fridge; Keith will figure out what to do with them later.

Then it’s onto the basics. Sift dry ingredients together, cream butter and sugar, beat in the rest of the wet ingredients, dry ingredients, milk until just mixed. Keith falls into the motion and the movement so easily and he forgets the party going on around him.

Allura returns just as Keith is slipping the cupcakes into the oven. Keith thanks her profusely and refuses the change she tries to hand him; payment for her time and the gas in her car, he tells her.

These are expensive cupcakes. Shiro is worth it.

While the cupcakes bake, Keith joins the party and allows someone to put a drink in his hands. He’s laughing at Lance trying to do a celebratory handstand—whatever that is—when an arm winds around his waist. It comes with the scent of Shiro’s cologne so Keith leans into it, into Shiro, and there’s the briefest moment of Shiro’s fingers squeezing Keith’s hip that just takes his breath away.

Keith turns from the tragedy going on in the middle of his living room to look up at Shiro. “What’s up?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks.

Shiro looks down at him and the moment becomes unforgivingly intimate. They’re so close, Shiro wrapped around him, and Keith would only have to lean up a few inches to kiss Shiro like he’s always dreamed. That thought makes him shiver. He can see the dusting of black stubble over Shiro’s sharp jaw, the exact cool tone of his dark brown eyes, the way his ears are just a little too big for the size of his head. Shiro is a long line of warmth against his side, solid and Keith is terrified, then—of losing this or of never having it.

“Just . . . happy,” Shiro says after a long, long time. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been so close to Shiro like this. “I can’t really believe this is happening.”

“I can,” Keith says again. Shiro getting into medical school was never a question to Keith—of course not. He has the grades, the passion, the dedication, the unwavering drive to be able to help people. Keith has told Shiro all of this a thousand times, and if he has to make it a thousand and one, he will, right now. “You—you’re going to be so amazing, Shiro. I know it.”

“I hope so,” Shiro breathes.

Something crackles in the air between them. It’s probably just Keith’s longing and desire compounded by this strange extended hug they’re having, vaguely reminiscent of the way Shiro likes to put his hand on Keith’s shoulder. This is just the celebratory version of that.

The oven timer going off is what tears them apart. Keith slips away but Shiro’s hand on his hip follows until Keith is officially out of reach, and that patch of skin feels like a brand underneath his jeans.

The cupcakes are perfect. 

Keith’s hands shake as he pulls them out of the oven.

He takes the cupcakes to the front porch to cool in the wintery air covered by a towel—by the time he finishes making the frosting, they’ll be nearly ready to go. The trip outside doubles as a moment for Keith to steel himself. He heaves in great breaths of freezing air. Keith tries so, so hard every day just to be Shiro’s supportive best friend, but sometimes being the best friend of a friendly, touchy-feely, generous, kind man is very difficult for him. Especially when Shiro is also objectively the hottest man on campus. It’s very difficult to live knowing that Shiro’s abs are always just a panel of fabric away.

Even more difficult now that Keith is imminently faced with Shiro moving to California for medical school. It may as well be lightyears away.

Keith shakes his head as if he can physically remove every upsetting thought from his mind that way. He has frosting to make and cupcakes to fill with Nutella and friends to celebrate achievements with because no matter how emo Keith is about a future without Shiro right by his side, this is a good thing. It isn’t the end of anything—Shiro’s friendship isn’t going to fade. Their relationship is built on so much more than proximity.

That thought finally gets Keith back to the house and into the kitchen. 

He whips together a basic buttercream with his hand mixer until it’s light and fluffy without being too sweet. Then he divides it into two equal portions. The first portion gets a heaping third of a cup of Nutella whipped into it; the second gets freeze-dried strawberries crushed into dust, turning it a sweet, pleasant pink.

A hand lands on the small of Keith’s back. It’s Shiro again, leaning over Keith’s shoulder to stare into the bowl of strawberry frosting.

“Can I try?” he asks.

“You can’t wait twenty minutes for it to be on a cupcake?” Keith asks. His voice cracks but Shiro just grins at him, wide and happy.

“Please?” 

“Go bring me the cupcakes from the porch,” Keith bargains. “Then you can try.”

Shiro squeezes him into a little side hug before he goes, pulling them together from thigh to shoulder. Keith’s whole body heats up, his cheeks flushing, and he stares hard at the bowl of frosting, praying that it can save him.

God. Shiro can’t possibly know what that stuff does to Keith, otherwise he wouldn’t torture Keith like this. 

Keith represses a sigh so Shiro can’t ask him about it.

When Shiro returns, Keith has a heaping spoonful of frosting ready for him. Shiro pops the whole thing in his mouth with sparkling eyes and moans as the flavor hits his tongue. Keith can’t look away from the approval on his face.

“Keith, that’s so good I feel compelled to ask you to marry me,” Shiro announces when he pulls the spoon out of his mouth.

On the outside, Keith says, “Shut up.” On the inside, he is dying. He wants to think that Shiro just misspoke or that Keith misheard, but he’s not actually that much of a fool. That really just happened. Casual and joking, like Keith and Shiro chat about getting married all the time. His hands move on autopilot, folding the strawberry frosting to make sure the powder blends in completely.

A million thoughts flash through Keith’s mind but he can’t latch onto a single one of them. This is what Shiro does to him.

“Seriously, that’s incredible,” Shiro says.  _ “You’re _ incredible.”

Keith rolls his eyes at that and refuses to answer; his bright red face says more than enough and, frankly, coming up with words is impossible right now. 

Thankfully, a distraction is in order. Keith pulls the tray of cupcakes toward him and begins the arduous process of scooping out just enough of their centers to make room for a generous scoop of Nutella. He cuts the cores in half, saving the top parts, and the discarded bits go right into Shiro’s wiggling fingers for him to eat one by one. 

Spooning the Nutella into the cupcakes by the dollop, Keith lets his heart guide him on the appropriate amount. It’s hard to go wrong with Nutella.

“So tell me why there are two kinds of frosting,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts as he readies a piping bag. “I’m going to swirl them together,” he answers. “Like this.”

Into the bag goes a scoop of strawberry frosting and then a scoop of chocolate. He alternates until the bag is full up, and then he steadily pipes a swirl of frosting onto the first cupcake. It comes out just perfect, the two flavors blending seamlessly into a gradient of pink and brown. Aesthetically, this might be one of Keith’s best creations.

Shiro lets him work in silence. Well, relative silence—their friends are not quiet in any way, but no one pays them any attention while Keith finishes up.

“Alright,” Keith says once the last cupcake is frosted. “Ready to eat.”

Of course, the quick comment he says quietly to Shiro privately somehow gets picked up by Lance and Pidge from clear across the house as excited yelling starts and people come bounding in. Their eyes light up when they see what sits on the counter.

Keith has to beat them all back with a whisk so he can toast Shiro with the first cupcake like he rightfully deserves.

The sparkle in Shiro’s eyes makes it all worth it.

***

Two weeks later on Friday night, Keith receives a very cryptic text message from Shiro.

_ found u a bakery - roadtrip tomorrow? _

Keith stares at it for a moment in disbelief. He’s already half-forgotten the conversation he had with Shiro about bakeries, but apparently here Shiro is, trying to take him to one.

There are a million ways to overanalyze this. Honestly, Keith might have butterflies in his stomach right now, just sitting on the couch for movie night in ratty sweatpants with his roommates around him because his relationship with Shiro has been very, very intense lately and Keith doesn’t know what to do about it. But really—there’s only one right answer, because what else is Keith going to say? Bakeries, road trips, Shiro—these are all things that Keith loves.

Love is a scary word to apply to a person. 

He sends Shiro:  _ what time? _

***

Keith doesn’t know what to expect when he gets into the passenger seat of Shiro’s car. He envisions them driving to the next town over to one of those locally owned, ethically sourced coffee shops that has an in-house baker for pastries. In his head, he imagines they’ll only be gone for a good hour, nothing extravagant but a pleasant outing nonetheless.

But Shiro doesn’t turn toward any neighboring city that Keith is aware of. He takes them out into the country where hills of farmland roll, barren for the season but no less magnificent in their endless reach to the equally gray horizon. They drive for nearly an hour and Shiro refuses to tell Keith why, keeping all his secrets inside with a playful grin when Keith asks where the hell they’re actually going. Heading west for this long, he expects to see Lake Michigan at any point, but they hook north eventually and no lakeshore appears. Keith has been kidnapped by his best friend, it seems, and he can’t quite bring himself to care. He can put homework off for a few more hours.

Shiro pulls the car up in front of a tiny storefront that’s absolutely in the middle of nowhere, a farm attached to it and great, fat cows grazing in snowy pastures to either side. It doesn’t look like the kind of place you order a slice of cake from.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Shiro says before they get out of the car. Keith surveys the nearest cow, which is brown and has very sweet, big eyes. Shiro probably does know what Keith is thinking—confusion must be written all over his face because he’s certain that the neon  _ Open  _ sign in the window is turned off, which means they shouldn’t be here. “But Hunk had a tip and I think you’ll like this.”

“We’re here to eat cake, right?” Keith says to make sure he hasn’t missed something.

“So much cake,” Shiro sighs. “I’ll have to run five miles tonight to make up for this.”

“Don’t say that,” Keith scolds him.

“It’s worth it,” Shiro promises. “Also, follow my lead, okay? I arranged a special tasting for us, but, uh, they kind of think we’re getting married.”

Keith’s head whips around. “They  _ what?”  _

“Just be cool,” Shiro says, like this isn’t a big deal at all. “Be the strong, silent type I know you wish you were.”

“Shiro—”

“Also. I need you to wear this.”

That’s when Shiro produces a ring and holds it out to Keith.

Obviously, this is not, say, a marriage proposal situation. For starters, Keith and Shiro aren’t even in a relationship, never mind about to be engaged. And even if they were (which they’re not, except in Keith’s dreams), Keith knows Shiro well enough to know that Shiro would  _ never  _ do something like propose to a boyfriend off-handedly in a car with a bunch of cows surrounding them. He would be much more purposeful about it.

Not that Keith has ever thought about such a thing. Shiro is just a romantic person, that’s all.

“Um,” he says. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” Shiro urges him. “Look, I got one for me, too.” Shiro holds up a second ring and slips it over his fourth finger. 

“I just need you to answer one question,” Keith says in what he thinks is a remarkably level tone. “Why do we have to be married to buy cake from this place?” This place, which looks far more like an ice cream shop than a bakery, but Keith is willing to reserve judgment for now.

“Because it’s a wedding cake tasting,” Shiro says reasonably. “So come on, husband, let’s get some  _ cake.” _

And that is all the explanation Keith warrants, apparently. He’s fine. Totally not combusting right now.

Despite all indications that the store is closed, Shiro walks right up to the door and pulls it open, ushering him inside before Keith can say anything. The inside is cow-themed, which feels appropriate to the outside but less appropriate to the fact that Shiro promised him a bakery. A large ice cream counter dominates the space, filled with giant tubs just waiting to be scooped into homemade waffle cones, and the whole thing smells vaguely like vanilla. To the left of the counter sit a series of industrial fridges bearing cheese and milk for sale. A large cake sits on a table next to it, displaying intricate piping along the purple fondant of the lower tier. The top ]features chocolate dripping down the sides and a strawberry centerpiece. It’s probably just a display cake, not made of anything real, but Keith’s mouth waters just looking at it. He didn’t eat breakfast that morning. 

The worker behind the counter slips into the back as soon as he sees them.

Keith looks to Shiro, but he appears entirely unconcerned as he grabs Keith by the hand, tangling their fingers together, and leads them further into the store. Keith’s palm immediately begins to sweat. 

“Hi!” The voice that comes out next is bubbly and bright as a short, blonde-haired woman flounces out from the same door, the smile on her face so wide it’s blinding. She dusts her hands off on a baby blue apron accented with floral embroidery before she waves both of them in the air in greeting. “You must be Shiro and Keith, it’s so great to meet you!”

“Romelle?” Shiro asks. “Hi, we spoke on the phone.”

“Shiro!” Romelle takes his outstretched hand in both of hers and shakes it enthusiastically. “And that makes you Keith, hello!” Keith’s hand receives the same treatment even though it was just holding onto Shiro’s left hand for dear life. “I’m so excited to finally meet you guys, congratulations on your engagement! We have a real treat planned for you today.”

“I can’t wait,” Shiro says, grinning just as brilliantly back at her. “I read over the paperwork you sent me and everything sounds amazing.”

“Excellent!” Romelle claps her hands together.

“Also,” Shiro says, glancing sideways at Keith, “I wanted this to be a surprise, so . . . he doesn’t know what we’re doing here today.”

Romelle’s endless grin turns slightly maniac. “That’s the way I like it. You’re the one who likes to bake, yes?”

Keith nods his head once. Strong and silent, that’s him today.

“Yay! I hope we can live up to your expectations, then, since you’re both so used to having treats at home.”

“I don’t doubt you will,” Shiro says with a bright smile.

Romelle flails her arms at him with a laugh. “Alright, well just to confirm a few details—your date is set for August 20th and you don’t have a venue yet, correct?”

Shiro bobs his head. “I was thinking on the beach for the ceremony, but you have to get permits and everything so we’re still figuring out the exact location. And we’ll rent something nearby for the reception—it’ll be small, less than thirty guests.” 

How much of this fake-wedding did Shiro fake-plan?

“Sounds right up my alley,” Romelle says. “Let’s get you two settled in here—have you picked wedding colors yet?”

They’re both ushered over to a table in front of the shop window by Romelle’s very strong arms while Shiro spins another tale about wanting to stick with a pastel beach theme for the late summer, and Keith just tries not to let the shock and confusion show on his face as they settle into chairs side by side. Romelle bundles their winter coats away to hang on a coat stand by the door right as the worker from before silently delivers a tray of hot chocolate to their table. It’s replete with steaming mugs, a selection of tiny marshmallows, and a bowl of what Keith suspects is freshly whipped cream.

“Wow,” Shiro says, leaning in to get a whiff of chocolate. 

“You two get comfortable now,” Romelle says. “I’ll be right back with your first selection.”

Shiro glances after her to watch her disappear into the back again, and then he dunks his hand into the bowl of marshmallows, ignoring the spoon beside them. He plops a handful in his drink with a happy hum and pokes each of them under the hot chocolate with a finger. Keith watches the process blankly while he tries to process what the hell is happening here.

“You’re going to love this,” Shiro says. “Technically, this is a creamery—y’know, they make their own butter and cheese and ice cream and stuff. But Romelle does wedding cakes on the side and she’s apparently incredible.”

“Shiro,” Keith says. He thinks his tone is very even, considering the shit his brain is going through right now. “What the hell is happening?”

“Chill, Keith, it’s fine. Drink.” Shiro reaches over to nudge Keith’s hot chocolate closer to him. “I paid for the tasting, so we’re not ripping anyone off here. And it’s only for engaged couples, so we gotta be engaged.”

“But we’re not—”

“Sure we are,” Shiro says with a playful wink as he takes Keith’s hand again. Keith gapes at him and Shiro has the audacity to press his lips quickly to the back of Keith’s palm, the hand with the wedding ring on it, before letting him go. Maybe someone from the creamery is watching them. “C’mon, Keith, just have fun with it. Romelle was really sweet about setting all of this up and her reviews are  _ glowing.  _ You’re gonna love everything.”

Keith shakes his head—he doesn’t have words. 

But Shiro makes a reasonable point: if the tasting is fairly paid for and Romelle already has everything ready for them, well. It would be exceptionally ridiculous for Keith to stalk out of the store now and let all of her hard work go to waste. Keith is a lot of things, but intentionally rude to people just doing their jobs is not one of them.

With a heavy sigh, he gives in and reaches for the mug closest to him. The side of it has cat whiskers and eyes.

Shiro grins at him and takes a sip of his hot chocolate, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he tastes it. Something in Keith’s own gut flips and he has to look away. He plops a dollop of cream in his drink, as big a spoonful as Shiro dropped in with the marshmallows. And Shiro is right—it  _ is _ absolutely delicious, probably made with milk from some of the cows right outside, and Keith goes back in for a deeper drink as soon as the taste hits his tongue.

“Oh,” Shiro says. He sounds a little funny. “You—you have a little, uh.” 

Keith licks his top lip.

“No, it’s, um, here,” Shiro says, reaching out to wipe a smudge of something from the corner of Keith’s mouth. Without his permission, Keith’s face bursts into flames and he blinks wide at Shiro, not sure how to process the churning in his stomach. The bridge of Shiro’s nose is red and he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his finger now that it’s got something on it.

Swallowing hard, Keith scrambles to hand him a napkin. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Yeah. No problem, Keith.”

They sit in silence until Romelle returns. Keith doesn’t know  _ why  _ it has to be silent, but even as he tries to think of something to say to break the quiet, his brain simply continues to replay what just happened in lurid detail, nevermind that there wasn’t anything particularly  _ lurid _ about it. His face feels funny, the spot where Shiro touched him like a brand, and he wants this strange emotion to be over so he can drink his hot chocolate without his hands shaking when he lifts the mug.

Keith was not prepared for this.  _ This _ being today, as Shiro calls him husband and holds his hand, and also being the last few strange weeks of Keith’s life. Shiro has always been an affectionate guy but it’s been turned up to eleven around Keith lately; clearly, he’s missing a place to direct the brunt of his physical affection and Keith has picked up the slack. And that’s complicated for Keith. As Shiro’s best friend, Keith wants to do everything he possibly can for Shiro, but it’s so difficult to keep his thoughts platonic when Shiro is all over him. It feels unfair to Shiro—he’s here because Keith is safe, because Keith isn’t just another dude in a long string of terrible boyfriends, and here Keith is, swooning over a brief touch because he is in love. 

Maybe it’s okay for now, though. Shiro’s going to be gone in a few months and then Keith will finally be able to quiet his attraction and gently move on from unrequited love. No one ever has to know.

“Okay, boys!” Romelle comes back out with a large rolling cart topped with two big silver-domed platters. Keith shakes his head to bring his mind back to the present—he shouldn’t waste time feeling sorry for himself, not when there’s cake to try and precious few minutes left to spend with Shiro. “I’ve brought your first three tastings. There will be six total, so make sure you don’t fill up too fast.” She winks at them both as she carefully transfers the platters to sit on the table in front of each of them. “And . . . voila!”

Without flourish, Romelle whisks the domes away, leaving behind three neatly plated servings of cake and ice cream in little dishes with a divider down the middle to keep them apart. Keith’s mouth actually waters.

“We pair our cakes with our ice creams for maximum flavor impact,” she explains. “Flavors are on the cards next to each cake, though I suggest you try each of them before flipping it over and finding out what it is. Helps keep the bias away.”

“This is incredible,” Shiro says, looking like he can hardly believe his luck. His sweet tooth must be manic right now.

“It looks really fancy,” Keith says honestly.

Romelle laughs and pats Keith lightly on the shoulder.  _ “Fancy.  _ You’re sweet, Keith. Let me know if either of you need more hot chocolate, I’ll just be in the back.”

She floats away with a wave over her shoulder.

“Wow,” Shiro whispers as he picks up his fork in anticipation. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Keith informs him, even as his ire is fading with every passing second and Shiro knows it. Keith is weak: there’s so much cake and ice cream right in front of him and he wants to devour every bite more than he wants to scold Shiro for tricking him into playing at affianced cake tasters. Keith hates lying to people— _ Shiro  _ hates lying to people!

His life has turned into something entirely unexpected.

They start with the green sponge cake. The taste is clearly matcha, which makes Shiro wrinkle his nose and mutter about grass but Keith sinks into the delicate sweetness of it. There’s coconut, too, and something nutty that matches the black ice cream.

“Love the ice cream,” Shiro mutters, half to himself. 

“This is so good,” Keith says. Oh, it’s beyond good—he wants to experiment with something just like this and figure out how he can make it himself. Pidge would love this one, he thinks.

Keith scrapes up every last bite of the cake and then eats Shiro’s in exchange for the rest of Keith’s ice cream. He’s nearly vibrating with excitement when they flip over the card with the flavor name on it and discover  _ Matcha sponge cake with sesame & coconut cream cheese frosting paired with sesame ice cream. _

“Sesame,” Keith says. He should be taking notes. “I need to write that down.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro says, putting a hand over Keith’s to stop him from picking up his phone. “Romelle will send us a list of everything afterwards.”

“Thank god,” Keith says, and he means it. He means it so much he almost forgets to freak out when Shiro’s hand doesn’t leave its position on top of Keith’s despite the fact that Keith is no longer in the process of picking up his phone. They move to the three-tiered cake next and Shiro just picks his fork up in his left hand so his metal fingers can curl just slightly around the back of Keith’s palm. Hand holding. That’s what this is, which is totally cool and not worth noticing in any special way. Friends can hold hands if they want and that’s fine.

_ And we’re supposed to be engaged here,  _ Keith tells himself. His head feels faint regardless and his skin burns every spot Shiro touches him, unable to tell the difference between romantic touch and just-trying-to-play-the-part touch.

Keith swallows thickly. He can’t handle the stress this is putting on him and he prays his hand isn’t sweating.

The next cake is just as delicious. It has layers of chocolate mousse and strawberries between the cake, but Keith feels terrible because he can’t focus on it. 

Why is he holding Shiro’s hand?

Vanilla, lavender, chocolate, strawberry, with a sweet cream ice cream on the side. It’s good, great, even, but Keith’s brain isn’t functioning right now. He’s got nothing to give: he stares at Shiro enthusiastically taking a bite of cake and Keith knows that his own expression can’t be anything but dopey, unrepentant adoration. 

The rest of the tasting goes just like that, and every time Shiro has to move his hand away from Keith’s, he eventually puts it back, uncaring where Keith’s own hand goes. They drink three cups of hot chocolate each—because clearly the sugar in the cake and ice cream is not enough. Shiro’s favorite of their options is a pink champagne cake with raspberry mousse and vanilla buttercream that comes with a rose ice cream. Keith isn’t sure what  _ pink champagne  _ is supposed to taste like, but it is damn good. Personally, Keith is a sucker for the strawberry thyme cake with lemon buttercream with a strawberry balsamic ice cream on the side. The complexity of sweet and savory calls to him and gives him even more ideas for things he wants to bake.

By the end, Keith is stuffed and his head is swimming. The good news is that his palm isn’t sweating anymore underneath Shiro’s hold; the bad news is that he fears he’s gotten so attached to this feeling that he might never be whole again once it’s over. The other good news is that Keith is now so high on his love of cake that he doesn’t hesitate to enthusiastically shake Romelle’s hand on the way out the door and promise to call her.

Whatever. At this point, Keith is willing to call her tomorrow, explain that he just dumped Shiro because his true love is her cake, and demand recipes. Who’s gonna stop him?

They stumble back to the car, intoxicated by sugar. Keith thinks he should probably take the ring off but . . . he kind of likes it.

“Worth the lies?” Shiro says.

Keith sighs and slumps back in his seat, both hands resting on his belly. He is  _ very  _ full. He might never move again. “Lying is bad,” Keith says, but it’s hard to take himself that seriously.

“But you had fun,” Shiro says with a laugh. 

“I really did.”

They stare at each other in silence. Shiro looks so content and soft right now, his black beanie pulled over the tops of his ears and his hair floof sticking out from his forehead. Keith toys with the idea of just saying it, of putting it out there to clear the air between them:  _ I love you, Shiro.  _ But the words are easy to think and impossible to say.

“I always have so much fun with you, Keith,” Shiro says. His grin is lopsided and sweet and Keith can’t look at him anymore, so he turns to gaze at the cows. “Seriously, you deserve stuff like this. I can’t remember the last time I saw you so excited.”

“That’s just what cake does to me,” Keith says to cover the pounding of his heart. He can hear every beat in his ears.

“I want to make you feel this happy all the time.”

God.  _ God,  _ Keith can’t handle this. Shiro can’t say these things to Keith because Keith can’t stop himself from jumping at the thought that they would ever be more than friends. Keith has always been plenty available and plenty gay, but Shiro always finds his way into someone else’s arms. At some point, Keith learned to take it for the hint it was: Shiro just doesn’t think of Keith like that. And that’s fine because the intimacy he shares with Shiro through their friendship is still the best thing in Keith’s life, but it’s always gonna hurt to know it won’t become more.

Keith’s head lolls to the side so he can look at Shiro. He needs a break before he can drive back. “Let’s go to the beach.”

***

They don’t have what Keith would necessarily call beach weather. Considering that the temperature is somewhere south of thirty degrees and the wind is blasting freezing spray into their faces, Keith probably could have made more weather appropriate decisions.

But . . . it is exhilarating to stare across the gray, roiling waters underneath the cloudy sky and feel the power of nature rushing all around him.

Keith is just a boy from Arizona who went north to the Midwest for college and he will probably never adjust to snow and ice like this no matter how hard he tries. Bundled up in his winter coat and the scarf Shiro gave him with a strange, an unexpected engagement ring on his finger, Keith can taste the bite of cold on his tongue but doesn’t feel it invade his body. He stands before the waves that crash even in the dead of winter, the sand half frozen under his feet and streaked with snow in its little dips and valleys. And Shiro stands with him, confused but patient, and he lets Keith have his moment with nature.

Keith doesn’t get many opportunities like this, living in the city. The lakeshore feels like freedom.

Emotion Keith has beaten back for years wells up inside him before he can think his way out of it. He loves Shiro. Loves him like the moon loves the sun and more than any of those other idiot boys could ever imagine. 

Shiro is it for Keith. This isn’t a crush or a passing fantasy—Keith knows what those feel like—and it never could be. There is no universe where Keith could care less than this about Shiro and he can’t imagine letting his best friend move across the country without telling Shiro how profoundly he has impacted Keith. He needs Shiro to know what this means to him, what  _ Shiro  _ has always meant to Keith, and it feels right to do it here. Keith can leave this place behind—he won’t have to relive the moment of rejection every time he sits on his couch or studies at his favorite spot in the library. This can be a fleeting moment in a place he’ll never stand again.

In a few months, Shiro will be packing to leave for med school, likely a thousand miles away in California. Keith believes their friendship is stronger than distance, but before Shiro goes, Keith needs to get this off his chest. There’s no way Keith can go another three years hiding a secret like this from his best friend. If they can get through living a thousand miles apart, Keith will just have to trust that they can get through this, too.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith says. He turns, puts his back to the lakeshore, and looks Shiro right in the eyes. The words are easy and he doesn’t want to think anymore. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t gasp aloud like Keith sort of hoped that he would.

“You’re the most important person in my life,” Keith continues. “And I just—I just want you to know that.”

“Keith—”

Shiro seems at a loss for words. What more could Keith say after that? He can’t soften the blow or backpedal or try to deny the words that just came out of his mouth when Shiro has already heard them. The love of Keith’s life took him on what amounts to a dream date in Keith’s book and then he has the nerve to look like  _ that _ where Keith can see him. Broad-shouldered but so cozy, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold and his stupid,  _ stupid  _ flop of white hair poking out from underneath his hat.

Keith wants to kiss his forehead, then the scar over the bridge of his nose, then on his stupid, perfect lips. He has a hunch that Shiro is an excellent kisser. Shiro is, after all, amazing at pretty much everything except cooking, and just his touch on Keith’s shoulder is enough to make Keith weak in the knees. Shiro’s strong chest pressed to his, Shiro’s hand gripping Keith’s hip, their mouths diving greedily into each other as Keith gets to feel Shiro’s tongue against his own for the first time—

He’s gotten off track. That’s not the way this is going to end.

“I’m not expecting anything,” Keith says. He doesn’t want to force an inauthentic answer out of Shiro. Even if—and it’s a big if—their relationship has felt  _ changed _ lately, he doesn’t need to be coddled through a long string of apologies because Shiro doesn’t feel the same. 

Still. He really wishes he lived in the universe where Shiro would say something romantic in return.

“I don’t—want to fuck this up,” Shiro says eventually. 

Keith’s breath catches in his throat and he tells himself not to cry. He came into this expecting rejection and it will be pathetic if he loses his shit anyway. He should have more trust in Shiro to let him down gently, considerately, and with an eye to saying the proper words. “It’s okay, Shiro,” he says, voice hoarse. 

But Shiro’s gaze doesn’t turn away. He doesn’t shift awkwardly from side to side like he does when he doesn’t want to talk about something. His gaze refuses to leave Keith’s and there’s . . . there’s something unexpected in the determined set of his jaw.

“Because I  _ always _ fuck it up,” Shiro says forcefully. “And I know I fuck up, because no guy ever wants to stay with me.”

“Shiro, what are you—”

“Everyone I fall in love with  _ leaves me,”  _ Shiro says, his voice escalating until it ends in a shout. “Every time, Keith! And I can’t—I can’t do that to you, too.”

Keith’s mouth drops open. He scrambles for words, tries to get his brain around this conversation, but he can’t stop replaying the part where Shiro said he thinks Keith will leave him like his ex-boyfriends did. 

His worldview realigns. Suddenly, he can see the difference in every moment they’ve shared in the last month. Yeah, it’s not crazy to think that Shiro touching him constantly and texting him  _ good morning  _ every day and swooping in to chase off a hot man at an art show might all be slightly beyond normal friendship. 

“Trust me, Keith,” Shiro pleads, his words soft and sincere. “It’s—it’s better for you if nothing changes.”

“That’s what you don’t understand, Shiro,” Keith says with a broken laugh. He can hardly believe this is happening right now. “I’ve already stayed with you. You don’t have to—to date me or like me back, but I need you to know that I’m never gonna give up on you.”

Shiro opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He tries again. “I don’t want you to leave like everyone else,” Shiro confesses, his voice so small that Keith can barely hear him over the wind. Keith moves closer, determined to catch every word that comes out of Shiro’s mouth like this.

“I’m all in, Shiro,” Keith pleads. He  _ needs  _ Shiro to understand this. “I’ve  _ been _ all in. You wanna get married tomorrow or in ten years, I’m in. You wanna move to—to Connecticut, I’m there, Shiro. If the only thing stopping you is that you’re scared, then—then fuck that, Shiro. Fuck that.”

It comes out far more biting and bitter than he really means, but if that’s what it takes to get through to Shiro, that’s what he’ll do. He’s putting it all out there and Shiro can walk away if he wants, but to call foul on Keith’s commitment and dedication to the man who has become  _ everything  _ to him is absolute bullshit. Keith doesn’t play games like that. Shiro searches his face and Keith can only hope he finds what he’s looking for.

“Keith, are—are you serious?” Shiro asks.

Keith throws his arms out wide in disbelief, waving his hands madly at Shiro. “Of course I’m serious!”

Shiro’s jaw works soundlessly, a million expressions exploding across his handsome features. Keith can’t believe he was fully convinced Shiro only saw him platonically until about five minutes ago and he’s  _ still  _ the one who can’t process the thought that this could be something. Keith is relatively calm, now that they’ve laid all their cards on the table. He just needs Shiro to get on the same page so they can make this work.

Shiro takes a deep breath.

“Okay, then. Now you’ve promised. We’re gonna get married one day,” Shiro says, his voice wobbling. “And we are never, ever moving to fucking Connecticut.”

And then Shiro grabs Keith’s face in both hands and kisses him hard for the first time on a beach in February, the freezing lakeside wind tearing at their clothes. Shiro’s wearing a beanie and gloves and all Keith has is the scarf Shiro gave him, but when their lips meet, it’s like the cold doesn’t exist. A spark travels from Shiro’s mouth straight to Keith’s chest and flares hot inside him, and Keith stokes the fire by pressing closer, by moving his lips against Shiro’s and kissing him for all Shiro is worth to him. And he’s worth a lot.

“God, Keith—”

“Shut up,” Keith mumbles against his lips. They can talk later. What Keith needs now is more of this glorious thing where he learns the shape of Shiro’s lips and the taste of his mouth. 

Shiro's nose is cold where the tip of it brushes Keith's cheek, and it's difficult to get close to him when two puffy coats and a scarf are in the way, but none of that is a deal-breaker. Not when Shiro is such a fantastic kisser just like Keith suspected, his lips soft and yielding to Keith's excited assault right before he wrests the power right back and does his best to kiss the heat and life out of Keith. This is the definition of tongues battling for dominance, and it’s sexy as hell.

Keith can't feel his fingers in the cold air but nothing has ever been so worth it.

“Not that—not that this isn’t  _ great,”  _ Shiro gasps into Keith’s mouth. Shiro, the bastard, all he has to do to break the kiss is tip his head back so Keith can’t reach his mouth. His neck isn’t available either because Shiro’s coat is zipped up to his chin. “Keith, it’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Keith says.  _ I’ve been waiting for this forever,  _ he doesn’t add. It’s just a kiss and they’ve barely started but he wants so much more if it’s on the table. Keith thinks he’s being quite restrained and reasonable here, considering the sheer amount of daydreaming and nighttime dreaming he’s done about Shiro’s mouth and . . . the rest of his body. He’d love the chance to show Shiro right now just how much Keith wants everything with him.

“We’ve got time,” Shiro murmurs, even as his mouth falls to Keith’s again, one hand holding the back of Keith’s head so all Keith can do is just sink into Shiro, surrounded by him. “We’ve got as much time as we need.”

The words prick at Keith’s mind. It’s not true—they don’t have forever, not when Shiro will be moving to California in just a couple of months. 

But he just can’t stop. If they have some time now, they should definitely take advantage. With their mouths. And maybe other things, if Shiro can be convinced to have a little extra fun.

“Let’s go back to—back to the car,” Keith gasps. Shiro leans back in and finds the underside of his jaw and it is  _ horrible. _ “We can get out of the wind.”

“Brilliant,” Shiro murmurs against the skin on his throat. His hands don’t let Keith go quite yet and there’s one more endless kiss that steals Keith’s heart from his chest, makes his head rush with feeling, turns his knees just a little weak. Keith’s never felt that when he kissed someone before. 

It ends with Shiro staring into Keith’s eyes while they just stand there together, so caught up in each other that the biting wind doesn’t seem so important anymore.

***

Shiro's car is a fifteen-year-old Tahoe with about two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it—the car used to belong to his grandparents and god knows how the damn thing is still running. Shiro describes it as old but reliable. Keith hasn’t known this car to have a mechanical problem once in the last three years he’s been hopping into the passenger seat next to Shiro. 

But today, the passenger seat holds none of its usual appeal. The backseat is spacious and very much empty, and just looking at it gives Keith all sorts of ideas.

“Hey, Shiro,” he says, his hand falling on the handle of the back door. 

Shiro doesn’t play at confusion. “We really shouldn’t,” he says, even as he crowds Keith up against the side of the car, startlingly sexy even in a puffy winter coat. His body is so close and imposing and Shiro is looking down at him with this little smirk like he knows Keith is feeling weak in the knees. Like he enjoys having Keith trapped like this, a willing prey. Keith fights down a whimper and he scrambles to wrench open the door beside him.

Keith swears—he  _ swears— _ that when he said they should come back to the car, he meant it with the intention of warming up, driving home, and then hopefully staking out some alone time away from all roommates after that. Maybe Keith wanted to steal some more kisses before they left, but he wasn’t thinking about a steamy makeout session in the backseat like something out of a movie. But Shiro doesn’t even let Keith finish unzipping his winter coat before he’s climbing on top of Keith, pushing him down on his back across the seat to kiss him again. There isn’t a lot of room to move, but gradually they manage to remove enough layers of clothing to leave them without any extra bulky fabric between them. Shiro has hat hair and it begins to disappear when Keith ruffles a hand playfully on top of his head to dispel it.

Shiro covers him entirely, his big body pressing down against Keith’s in all the right ways, and Keith has to fight so hard not to let out any embarrassing moans. Their legs are bunched up weirdly against the door but Shiro has one broad palm branding its mark on Keith’s ribcage, pushing his t-shirt out of the way to get there and Keith can’t complain about anything.

Maybe this is too much, too fast. Maybe the fact that Keith is getting hard in his jeans from Shiro’s mouth on his jaw means that he should put the brakes on it, should insist that they talk about their relationship, or—or go on a date or something before they take this any further. But Keith has wanted him forever and Shiro is the most exciting thing he’s ever felt, and it feels like a crime to even  _ think  _ about telling him he doesn’t want to keep going. Keith wants to continue more than he wants anything else in the world.

But . . . maybe he wants to get a little more comfortable first.

“Hey, Shiro?” he gasps. “Can we—can we sit up?”

Shiro hums into his skin, his lips lingering on Keith’s throat as he gradually pulls back. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” Keith answers with a laugh. It sounds a little desperate which is exactly how Keith feels right now. “I just think my leg is going numb.”

Detangling their limbs enough to move is a complex process, especially when Keith can’t seem to stop kissing across the sharp line of Shiro’s jaw, tasting his skin and shivering at the intimacy of finding a patch of stubble Shiro missed when he shaved that morning. Shiro pulls their coats and various items of winter clothing out of the footwell and pushes it all into the front seat to make room for his legs as he finally sits upright in the middle of the seat bench.

Keith doesn’t need room for his legs. Instead, he waits just long enough for Shiro to get settled and then swings a leg over Shiro’s lap and plops down right there, ducking his head slightly to avoid bumping against the roof of the car. He kisses the surprised  _ oh  _ right out of Shiro’s mouth.

Like this, Keith can run his hands over Shiro’s chest, trace the ridges of his collar bone, squeeze his strong bicep. He sighs into Shiro’s mouth as hands land just above his hips and hold on tight, hands so big that Keith swears Shiro could encircle his whole waist with them. Keith has dreamed about this for years—about how powerful Shiro’s thighs might feel, how he might sound when Keith rocks his hips down against Shiro’s. He grinds down tentatively, just to test the waters, and that sends a spark of pleasure darting through Keith’s whole body. 

Oh, he wants this.

"Fuck, Keith," Shiro groans.

"Yeah?" Keith pants. He tears himself back so he can watch Shiro's face as he does it again, starting a slow, dirty rhythm with his hips. Shiro's eyes are dark and his mouth is red and swollen and he looks like everything Keith has ever wanted.

“We should—we should wait,” Shiro whispers, even as his grip on Keith’s hips tightens and he uses that to guide Keith’s movements.

“I’ll take you on a real date later,” Keith swears. “Promise.”

Shiro’s mouth moves like he wants to say something, his brown eyes wide and brimming with an emotion Keith can’t name. But instead of saying whatever is on his mind, he closes his mouth with a snap, eyes narrowing.

Keith slows and raises his eyebrows.

“I think we can count today,” Shiro murmurs. His left hand wanders up to Keith’s face and pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. The touch makes Keith shiver. “As a date.”

“We did, uh, get engaged, sort of,” Keith says. He touches the back of Shiro’s hand, brushing a finger over the ring.

“We sort of did.”

Shiro twists their hands around and laces his fingers through Keith’s so they can admire the rings together, side by side. The sight fills Keith with some kind of inexplicable emotion: it’s like a fantasy come to life. Even just a fake engagement ring on Shiro’s finger is enough to spawn a whole imaginary life in Keith’s mind, a future with Shiro that’s looking more and more possible by the moment. 

“Come on, baby,” Shiro whispers in this gravely, enthralling voice. The word ‘baby’ dripping off his tongue, directed right at Keith, sounds so good it  _ hurts. _ “Let’s get this off.”

A hand slides under the thin fabric of Keith’s T-shirt, up his chest so that Shiro can rub a thumb distractingly against Keith’s nipple. Just the knowledge of what Shiro is doing sends a zing through Keith’s body, his breath shaking as he reaches for the back collar of his shirt.

He pulls it over his head and drops it to the side as he shakes his bangs out of his face. Shiro’s gaze is hot, trailing greedily over every inch of skin. Half naked in a car in the middle of the day, Keith feels exposed and on show. But Shiro doesn’t give him a moment to feel embarrassment: he acts like this is the first time in his life he’s seen Keith without a shirt on, like they’ve never swum in the brisk Lake Michigan shallows or quickly showered next to each other after working out at the gym. Shiro licks his lips—in anticipation, excitement, or something similar, and Keith feels proud to put that look on his face.

Keith reaches for the bottom of Shiro’s henley and tugs at it. “Yours too,” he says, and it comes out far more certain than he feels.

“Good idea,” Shiro breathes.

It takes some coaxing to get it off. Shiro is thoroughly trapped between the seat and Keith’s body, but Keith is so impatient to get his hands on Shiro’s skin that he barely notices the awkwardness. 

He understands the novelty of seeing his best friend shirtless once he’s on this side of the equation. Gym showers don’t compare to finally having the permission to stare and catalog every inch of devastating perfection, and Shiro’s broad, muscular chest has a lot of inches. It’s like sitting on the lap of a Roman statue; no amount of eating Keith’s cupcakes and cookies can undo the sheer amount of time Shiro spends in the gym each week. It’s unfair and obscene.

But now . . . now Keith gets to touch.

“You’re so hot,” Keith says, two hands sliding over Shiro’s abs. The hair there is soft and dark, pointing straight down to the button of Shiro’s jeans. Keith doesn’t dare look further; he might combust from that.

“Look who’s talking,” Shiro murmurs in response. “You’re just incredible.”

Keith flushes from his cheeks to his chest, visible even in the dim light and it makes Shiro chuckle. 

“Don’t say that,” Keith mutters.

“I’ll say what I want,” Shiro says without missing a beat.

Their eyes meet and Keith narrows his eyes. Is this the attitude he gets for embarking on a sexual relationship with his best friend?

“Don’t give me that look,” Shiro warns, poking at Keith’s cheek. “You’re beautiful, Keith. I’ll keep saying it until you finally believe me.” And because their stubbornness is well-matched, Keith knows that’s the truth. 

“Yeah, well,” he says uselessly.

A metal hand cups his jaw, brushing a thumb over Keith’s mouth. “Hey,” Shiro whispers. “Trust me, I’m kinda in love with you. I’m the expert.”

Keith blinks in shock, his mouth agape. “You didn’t—you didn’t say that before,” he says.

“That I love you?” Shiro smiles. “How could I not?”

Shuddering as the words appear in the space between them, Keith glances at Shiro’s mouth. They meet in the middle for a slow, loving kiss that rises like the tide, and Keith can only embrace the encroaching rush.

Shiro makes this feel easy. He surrounds Keith, containing him with a tongue that moves so skillfully it’s dizzying. Keith is rushing to catch up, to make Shiro feel just as good, but all he can muster is submission to Shiro’s increasing demands. Teeth scrape over Keith’s bottom lip and he shivers. Shiro’s free hand presses into the small of Keith’s back, tugging him close so they can touch skin to skin, stoking a new kind of fire between their bodies.

Keith loses himself. 

He finds his hands in Shiro’s hair. It’s just long enough to get a grip on so he threads his fingers through it and tugs Shiro’s head back so Keith can attack his jaw, kiss down his throat, bite playfully at the thin skin beneath his ear, and sigh at how readily Shiro moans at the touch. His voice is rich as chocolate. 

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro whispers. “Do that—go lower.”

“Lower?” Keith breathes against his skin. He plants kisses down the line of Shiro’s neck, ending at the hollow of his throat, and Shiro whines for him.

“Lower,” Shiro says—begs, maybe. Keith can’t think too hard about that, not when Shiro is pushing him down to his chest, to the swell of his pecs. That’s when Keith finally gets it.

Shiro twitches when Keith licks over his nipple, free hand rising to show the other one attention. He gets a satisfied moan for his troubles, and Keith moans back. Touching Shiro is an endless feedback loop because he’s just so fucking expressive; everything Keith does gets him a noise or a movement and it’s addictive. Keith is uncomfortably hard in his jeans but he can’t tear his hands away from Shiro long enough to do anything about it, so he just has to deal with desperate horniness with no sign of relief in sight.

When Shiro pulls him up for another kiss, it’s with a hand fisted unrepentantly in Keith’s hair. Pleasure sings through him because that’s just what it feels like when someone pulls his hair and Shiro doesn’t miss that. He does it again, pulling Keith back, and the loud moan that punches its way out of Keith’s chest surprises them both.

“Holy shit,” Shiro whispers. His eyes burn into Keith’s, mouth open and slick. Keith squirms in his lap—he can’t pretend anymore that he’s capable of keeping this strictly a makeout session. He wants too much and they’re all alone and it’s impossible to hold himself back when he’s got someone as amazing and kind as Shiro with him. It’s been a long time since Keith first gave into the urge of imagining it’s Shiro with him when he touches himself alone at night, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

“Will you—will you think it’s weird if I wanna have sex right now?” Keith asks. He feels compelled to ask because if Shiro says he’s not into that, then Keith is gonna have to stop this now before he makes a very uncomfortable mess for himself in about three minutes.

“In the car?” Shiro asks with a raised brow.

Keith was more worried about the  _ in public  _ thing, but, yeah, in the car. He rocks his hips slowly into Shiro’s, biting his lip. 

“Baby,” Shiro whispers. Keith wants to hear that name from him forever.

“Please, Shiro,” Keith whispers. He leans in to say it again in Shiro’s ear, not brave enough to look Shiro in the eye while he begs for something like this. “Please, I’ve thought about you so much. I’ll make it so good.”

“Shit, Keith, it’s already so good,” Shiro groans. A hand slides tentatively into the back pocket of Keith’s jeans like it’s not sure of its welcome and Keith has to shut his eyes against the arousal that courses through him. God, that’s  _ Shiro’s hand _ on  _ Keith’s ass  _ and it’s guiding his hips to roll in rhythm down against where Shiro’s dick is trapped in his jeans. That thought is devastating on its own. “Wanna make you feel better than you’ve ever felt, baby. I want to take care of you.” 

The confession sends a shiver down Keith’s spine and he loses his rhythm. 

“Do you—do you remember when you tore a hole in your favorite gym sweatpants?” Shiro asks. The question comes out of nowhere and Keith makes a confused noise. “You bought those fucking—yoga pants or leggings or whatever to replace them. It took me a month to be able to look at you while you wore them, and then you went out and bought the red pair too because you liked them so much.”

Keith’s head spins—that was almost a year ago, practically a whole lifetime by college standards. “What does that have to do with anything?” Keith demands. He doesn’t want to be distracted from the task at hand.

Shiro laughs, kissing the side of Keith’s neck. Apparently he can’t look Keith in the eye while he talks either. “I always knew you were hot,” Shiro confesses. “But that was—that was a wakeup call, Keith, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Keith pulls back so he can stare at Shiro in outrage. “Why didn’t you  _ say anything?”  _ Keith demands. God, what is happening?

“I thought you didn’t see me that way,” Shiro says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Guess I was wrong.”

“So fucking wrong,” Keith says, gaping at him in disbelief. 

Shiro worries his bottom lip, gaze searching Keith’s for one long moment. “I think I knew how I felt about you for a long time. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

Keith has two options here. He could berate Shiro for not being honest about his feelings earlier and therefore taking precious relationship time away from them, which might be a little hypocritical on Keith’s part. Or he could just tell Shiro to stuff a sock in it and get his dick out already, because hearing Shiro talk about how long he’s been attracted to Keith is really revving Keith’s engines. 

“Maybe later I’ll let you fuck me in the leggings,” Keith says. His hand drops to play with Shiro’s nipple again, and beautiful pleasure explodes over Shiro’s face right before Keith leans in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss. He has control over it for about five seconds and then Shiro steps in and gets mean with everything he’s already learned about how Keith likes to be touched. A fist in Keith’s hair, free hand on Keith’s ass, and a little too much teeth—that’s all it takes for Keith to collapse into him. Shiro devours him like Keith is a five-star meal.

It feels like being worshipped.

Even in the chilly air, Keith’s body is hot all over. He squirms in Shiro’s lap, relishing in the slide of his chest against Shiro’s and the way Shiro is so much wider than him. Keith is on top and he still feels covered and surrounded and  _ safe,  _ like Shiro is going to take care of him the way Keith craves, just like Shiro said he would.

“Shiro,  _ please,”  _ he gasps when Shiro finally lets his mouth go. “I need—”

“I know, baby,” Shiro breathes against his skin. His voice is sex distilled into top-shelf scotch. “I know what you need. Need me to fuck you, right? Get you all wet and open around my fingers and fuck you til you can’t talk.”

Keith’s brain short circuits. He did not peg Shiro for dirty talk. 

Shiro presses one last deep kiss to his lips, taunting Keith. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Get naked, baby, there’s lube in the glovebox.”

He doesn’t need to tell Keith twice.

It takes some pretty extreme acrobatics to get two grown men’s pants off and then fish the lube out of the glove box in the front seat without pulling a muscle, but Keith feels nothing but anticipation as he finally reappears with the bottle and drops it in the seat next to him. And, because Keith is a well-prepared guy, he also snags the condom out of his wallet just so they don’t have to think about that later. He’s so triumphant that he almost forgets that when he resettles in Shiro’s lap, they’re both completely naked. And that thing brushing against the inside of Keith’s thigh, that’s—

Keith’s eyes drop. Gym showers  _ definitely  _ did not prepare him for the sight of Shiro’s cock standing fully hard, long and thick and too heavy to stand straight up like Keith’s does. Mouth watering, Keith reaches for it in a daze, wrapping his fingers around the base and stroking Shiro carefully. It earns him a surprised moan.

By the grace of the universe, Keith is going to fit Shiro’s massive dick inside of him, and he’s going to fucking love every second of it. 

“You’re perfect,” Shiro says as he reaches for Keith’s dick, returning the favor. Keith shudders at the touch, hardly able to believe he’s really staring at Shiro’s hand touching him, stroking him. “Fuck, baby, you’re so—”

Keith lurches in for a kiss. He’s starving for it, needs to taste Shiro’s mouth again and grind his cock into Shiro’s like a desperate, horny teenager. Shiro moans for him and responds by taking his own cock in hand with Keith’s, the both of them pressed together while Shiro works them over with a tight, steady grip that makes Keith’s head spin. The knowledge that it’s Shiro touching him, that it’s Shiro’s dick pressed up against his, is so affirming and impossible feeling that Keith wants to cry. Instead, he holds himself together and sucks on Shiro’s tongue, taunting him.

Too bad there’s not a single square inch of extra room in this car. Keith knows what he’d like to be sucking on instead. He knows he could take it all—bets that Shiro has never met anyone who can take him like Keith will the moment they have the time and space. In a perfect world, Shiro would be pulling Keith’s hair and calling him pretty when he cries, right here, right now, but while the world is good, it’s not perfect. Keith can’t do everything he wants yet.

But soon. As soon as Shiro lets him. And in the meantime, Keith has lube and a whole head of other ideas.

“Shiro,” Keith says against his mouth. “Shiro, please—”

Shiro dives back into Keith’s mouth with a groan. It’s accompanied by Shiro’s hands leaving his body and the sound of lube clicking open. Keith steadies himself by putting both hands on Shiro’s wide shoulders and shifting his thighs just the tiniest bit farther apart.

Their kiss breaks at the first questing touch of Shiro’s fingers against his hole. Keith holds his breath as the tip of Shiro’s finger presses inside, their eyes locked together. Shiro is gentle, almost obnoxiously so, and the way he looks at Keith defies explanation, full of an emotion that Keith doesn’t dare name. Even now, with Shiro inside him and telling Keith he’s beautiful, Keith can hardly hope this is real.

“Come on, that’s nothing,” Keith whispers. “I need  _ more _ , Shiro, I—”

“Shh, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Shiro’s confidence sparks excitement. He still gives Keith what he’s asking for, a second finger joining the first and nudging at his rim. Shiro has thick, long fingers that match the size of his hands and the rest of his body, and Keith definitely feels it as they push inside. The stretch makes his eyes flutter closed.

“That’s it,” Shiro says. “God, baby, you feel so good already. You look amazing.”

“Shiro . . . .” Keith sighs. His head drops back and he slowly shifts his hips, settling into the sensation of Shiro opening him up.

Shiro urges Keith back into a kiss, taking him so thoroughly that Keith doesn’t know what to focus on. A desire deeper than arousal grows in him and he shudders as Shiro’s fingers find that spot inside Keith that makes his heart jump and his hands twitch. He moans into Shiro’s mouth, losing himself so much that he doesn’t even notice the point when Shiro pushes another finger inside. It’s only when Shiro calls him  _ even prettier with three fingers inside _ that he realizes it.

Keith shudders. He can’t wait anymore—he needs to know what Shiro looks like when he fucks Keith, to find out how greedy Shiro can get when he chases his own pleasure. 

He’s been waiting so long for this. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. It feels so good to say his name and see Shiro’s eyes flash in return. “Shiro, I’m ready.” 

“Next time, I’m taking my time with you,” Shiro promises. His fingers fuck Keith hard for two strokes, making Keith shiver with how overwhelmed he is, and then they withdraw. Keith aches with how empty he feels. “Next time I’m gonna do this right, baby. I promise.”

Keith fumbles for the condom on the seat beside them, unable to look away from Shiro’s burning gaze.

“This is right,” Keith whispers. He leans in for a slow kiss as his hand finally finds the crinkly plastic wrapper. It feels impossible to tell Shiro everything he means to Keith—impossible because Keith could ramble forever about every little way Shiro fits together with him, about how every moment with Shiro feels like it was meant to be. He can’t believe that Shiro’s mouth on his is  _ real. _

As much as he hates it, Keith has to stop kissing Shiro. He pulls back but can’t resist one more peck for luck, and Shiro smiles brightly at him like he understands.

Keith loves him.

He rolls the condom down Shiro’s cock as quickly as he can, impatient with need, and he does his best not to get distracted by how thick and heavy it is. Keith urges Shiro to slump down a little in the seat to give Keith more room to work with, and then, feeling so sudden, Keith is lining himself up over Shiro’s lap.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. He steadies Keith by stroking a hand over Keith’s hip, petting up and down. Keith doesn’t need the comfort but he craves every touch and he loves how Shiro pays attention to him. “That’s it, baby, take it slow for me. Be careful.”

Shiro is the only person who can say that to Keith and not get laughed at. 

The first push of Shiro inside is—a lot. Keith fumbles to take the hand Shiro has on his hip, lacing their fingers together and squeezing so he can breathe through the feeling of being so overwhelmed. Inside, Shiro’s cock feels even bigger than it looks, and Keith wants it more than anything. He gets greedy, goes just a little too fast, but the way it fills him makes it so worth it. The enthralled expression and flushed features on Shiro’s face lends Keith a determination he’s never felt before and makes him feel so powerful.

Keith’s thighs shake. He squeezes Shiro’s hand tight as he feels himself sit down fully onto Shiro. He’s so full. Shiro is so  _ big.  _ Keith pants and wonders if he’s going to cry from how perfect this is.

“Talk to me,” Keith whines. “Shiro, please—”

“Keith, baby,” Shiro moans. He leans in for a kiss and sighs into Keith’s mouth. “You feel so good, baby, you’re doing so good.”

“You’re so—so big,” Keith says with a choked up laugh. 

“Mm.” Shiro brings their clasped hands to his mouth so he can kiss the back of Keith’s hand. “And you take me so well, baby. Just like you were meant for this.”

“Shiro, I need—”

“I know, I know,” Shiro whispers. “You gotta move, baby, I can’t right now.”

Tears prick at the corners of Keith’s eyes which should be embarrassing, but . . . this is Shiro. He’s safe here. Showing vulnerability in front of Shiro has been a hard-fought battle over the years, and Keith knows that Shiro would never judge him, not for this. Instead, he just smiles at Keith and tells him how pretty he is as his hands fall to Keith’s hips and guide him slowly into motion. His cock feels even better this way, and Keith’s body picks up the motion instantly. He grinds down into Shiro’s lap like a wild thing, so excited that he can’t seem to control himself.

“I had a dream about this,” Shiro says, his eyes sparkling and a grin at the corners of his mouth. “About you riding me, but you were facing the other way.”

That startles a laugh out of Keith. “You just—just stared at my ass?” he jokes. “Some dream.”

“Hell yeah, I stared at your ass.” Shiro’s hand slides over Keith’s ass and grabs at it, pulling Keith to grind down hard so Shiro’s cock is all the way inside him. “I love your ass. Wish I could see it now, watch your pretty hole stretch open around my cock.”

Keith’s jaw drops, his face burning with arousal and embarrassment.

“Can’t believe you took me so quickly,” Shiro teases. A finger sneaks over to brush against Keith’s rim, tracing around the place where Shiro’s cock is splitting him open. “You’re so small and tight. Must have really wanted it, huh?”

Keith didn’t know Shiro could talk like this. He had no idea that hiding somewhere behind his fun, friendly face was someone who could talk like this, could make Keith feel like he’s about to vibrate out of his body with just a few words. Shiro’s eyes are dark and consuming and Keith realizes then that he would do anything to keep Shiro looking at him like that for the rest of their lives. He owns Keith with nothing more than his gaze and Keith loves it.

“Feel it,” Shiro whispers. He pulls one of Keith’s hands back to his own ass, guiding his fingers to touch that same place on his rim. Feeling him like this, Shiro feels even bigger inside; Keith can suddenly appreciate just how open he has to be for Shiro. “Absolutely perfect for my cock, baby. So much better than I could have ever dreamed.”

“You too,” Keith gasps out. “I dreamed—dreamed about you so much, Shiro.”

“About me fucking you?”

“Yes,  _ yes.” _

“Good boy, that’s good,” Shiro murmurs. He pulls Keith in for a long kiss, pushing his tongue into Keith’s mouth and taking exactly what he wants. It’s just what Keith needs and he falls into it, his mind a mess of Shiro calling him  _ baby,  _ calling him  _ good,  _ and the searing heat inside him. 

Keith didn’t know how much he needed this. He takes Shiro’s face in his hands because he can and he leans fully into the kiss, wresting the power back from Shiro. Moaning into the kiss, Keith screws his hips down hard, making no excuses about how bad he needs this. He doesn’t regret fucking in the car, not by a long shot, but he can’t wait to be on a bed so Shiro can throw him down, climb on top of him, and just make Keith lay there and  _ take it _ from him. 

“Can I touch you, baby?” Shiro asks, his hand sliding down over Keith’s abs. “Want you to come on my cock, want to feel it.”

Keith barely manages to hiss out the word  _ yes  _ for him. It’s not going to take long for him to come, not when Keith is bouncing up and down on Shiro’s thick cock. He can only hope, as Shiro wraps a hand around Keith, that Shiro is close too, because Keith is breathing too hard and moving too much to keep up with the kiss Shiro asks for.

It’s all so much. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck so he can bury his face in Shiro’s shoulder and sob out these rough little moans. He can’t contain himself, too close to coming, but he doesn’t want to let himself go and have it be over already. Keith wants this feeling to last forever.

“Fuck, baby,” Shiro growls. “Fuck, that’s it—that’s it, baby, want you to take it just like that. Come for me. Show me how much you love this.”

Keith breaks down and comes.

He shakes into pieces, clinging to Shiro while Shiro talks him through it, words Keith can’t parse but it’s the sound that matters. Shiro strokes him through it, his hand on Keith’s cock dragging out every last bit of his orgasm until Keith is so overwhelmed by it that a single tear escapes from the corner of his eye.

He loves Shiro so, so much.

Keith kisses Shiro again before he can start saying more filthy things. If this is what Shiro is like in bed all the time, then Keith will adjust accordingly because it’s so fucking hot—but he’s not prepared to stare Shiro down and ride him until he comes while Shiro praises him for taking Shiro’s cock so well. Keith knows he’s doing well. What he needs now is for Shiro to come and leave handprint-shaped bruises on his hips.

Numbness and then overstimulation shock through him, but Keith doesn’t stop grinding down into Shiro’s lap. He can feel Shiro coming apart beneath him, his hands getting rougher as they try to slam Keith down on his cock, his breath gasping so much that Keith abandons his mouth to bite down his neck.

Shiro groans, slurring Keith’s name into the air around them, and then his body freezes. Keith grins, throws his body into fucking himself on Shiro, and he drinks in the way Shiro’s body shivers as he comes.

Bit by bit, Shiro relaxes, his fingers flexing on Keith’s hips, and Keith settles. Keith leans their foreheads together and doesn’t move, not yet willing to feel the emptiness of Shiro slipping out of him, and so they sit like that, sharing air and trying to ground themselves in each other. It really is madness, Keith thinks in his post-orgasmic delirium, to think that something is going to change when Shiro goes to California. The connection he has with Shiro doesn’t respect distance; there is something so much deeper at work here. 

“I love you so much,” Keith whispers.

“Love you too, baby.”

Keith presses a soft, simple kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “Gotta do this a million times before you go to California.”

Shiro hums into a longer kiss, one of his hands finally leaving Keith’s hips to skate up his body and brush a strand of hair out of Keith’s face. “Why would I go to California?” Shiro whispers against Keith’s mouth.

Wait.

Keith rears back to stare at Shiro. “For medical school?” he says slowly. How stupid does Shiro  _ get _ after he comes?

“Oh yeah,” Shiro says. He blushes. “That’s a great program, but . . . .”

“But  _ what?” _

“Well,” Shiro says with a big grin, “it’s not the only program that accepted me.”

Keith’s jaw drops open and he smacks Shiro on the shoulder with indignation. “And you didn’t tell me?” he demands. “Shiro, I thought you were leaving! What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, but his grin doesn’t look sorry at all. “I was waiting for the letter to come—I got an email with my acceptance but Allura and I were going to announce it together once she heard back, too. She deserves to celebrate with me.”

Keith kind of wants to slap Shiro for keeping secrets like this, but he’s too excited. It doesn’t even matter which other school Shiro got into—his other two options are less than four hours away by car and that means that Keith will get to see him. They can drive or take the train and spend weekends together. 

God. Keith can’t believe this all worked out, in the end.

“So—so Allura got in, too?” Keith asks.

“She hasn’t gotten the letter yet, but you know they’d be insane not to say yes,” Shiro says.

Keith licks his lips. “God,” he says. “I’m so mad at you, but I’m so proud of you, too. Don’t ever lie to me again if it involves you moving across the country.”

“Sorry, baby,” Shiro says, but he seems to catch onto the relief and excitement in Keith’s voice and he laughs as he says it. “I wanted to tell you so much, but Allura was nervous because she hadn’t heard back yet and I didn’t want to make her feel any worse about it.”

Of course Shiro would do something like that. He’s ridiculous but he loves his friends so much—Keith has seen him give up far more than a celebration of his achievements to help a friend.

“I’ll keep your secrets,” Keith says. “But only if you kiss me a lot.”

Shiro laughs out loud. “Need help keeping your mouth busy?”

“Kinda,” Keith whispers, and he leans in for a kiss. He loves that he can do that now.

***

They clean themselves up as best they can in the car, pulling enough clothing back on to be respectable driving back home. Keith tries to fix his hair in the side mirror but it’s a lost cause from Shiro’s hands getting all over it, and so is the bruise purpling up on the side of his neck. 

Keith is too happy to feel upset about it.

Shiro starts the car and sets the heater to blasting. It’s a good call—Keith is more than a little chilled now that they’ve both calmed down.

“Watch your knees, babe,” Shiro says. The pet name is so casual and Keith’s stomach flutters with delight.

Shiro opens the glovebox to place the bottle of lube back inside.

Wait a minute.

“Hey, Shiro, I have a question.”

“Ask away,” Shiro says absentmindedly as he pokes at the radio dials.

“Why the hell do you have lube in your car?”

Shiro freezes and he turns a guilty expression on Keith. “Um,” he says in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. “Well, um.”

_ “Shiro.”  _ Keith doesn’t know if he should be scandalized—Shiro gives rides in this car to his friends all the time, what the hell is he doing carting lube around too?

"It's not  _ mine,"  _ Shiro says in a rush. Then he seems to realize how much weirder that is, and he backpedals. "Okay, it's mine now. But it wasn't my idea and I just sort of . . . forgot about it. I think it was Brian’s."

Keith is fairly certain Brian is the name of one of Shiro’s exes, but they really do all start to blur together after a while. Brian is either the American one who exclusively spoke in a British accent when drunk or the British one with a fetish for American accents. God,  _ what _ has Shiro been doing with all these idiots when he could have been with Keith?

Maybe Brian is slightly okay, though. Since he left the lube and all.

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith says. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Uh,  _ yeah,”  _ Shiro says. “Yeah, I really am.”

Shiro tugs Keith over the center console so he can kiss Keith one more time before they hit the road, his lips stealing the air from Keith’s lungs and leaving him dizzy with love and excitement for the life laid out before them. It doesn’t even last a minute and it still feels like forever. 

Keith is okay with forever.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @[disloyalpunk](https://twitter.com/disloyalpunk)
> 
> My/Keith's Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe:
> 
> 2-1/4 cups flour  
> 1/2 tsp baking soda  
> 1/2 tsp baking powder  
> 1 tsp salt  
> 1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature  
> 3/4 cup white sugar*  
> 3/4 cup packed brown sugar  
> 1 tsp vanilla  
> 2 eggs  
> generous scoop of molasses**  
> 2 cups semi sweet chocolate chips
> 
> 1\. Preheat over to 350*F and line baking sheet with parchment paper or silicone baking mats.  
> 2\. Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, & salt in medium bowl.  
> 3\. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and both kinds of sugar, ideally with an electric mixer. You can also just beat it really hard with a whisk if you, like me, don't own an electric mixer. Room temp butter makes this easy.  
> 4\. Add eggs, molasses, & vanilla and combine. Gradually add the flour mixture and mix until *just* incorporated, then fold in chocolate chips.  
> 5\. Scoop even lumps onto baking sheet. Generally I get about 28 cookies out of this recipe, but it depends on how big you want your cookies. Remember to leave ample room between them on the baking sheet so they can spread out.  
> 6\. Bake for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown. Try not to burn your hands and mouth by eating them as soon as they come out of the oven.
> 
> *you can do all brown sugar or all white sugar if you want!  
> **I LOVE the flavor of molasses in these cookies, I generally use an overflowing tablespoon. but if you're not a fan or aren't sure, go easy. this recipe can be cut in half very easily if you want to experiment.
> 
> [snickerdoodle cake](https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/snickerdoodle-cake/) (this cake is SO GOOD, i made it for a birthday party two months ago and the cinnamon frosting changed my life)  
> [nutella strawberry cupcakes](https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/strawberry-nutella-cupcakes/)


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